Star crossed
by NathG
Summary: Saori knew that he hated her. Standing tall against the wall like that, a derisive halfsmile on his lips, Ikki, the most arrogant and difficult of the saints, might easily have been an enemy. And perhaps he was. Why else would he look at her like that?
1. Between You And Me

Disclaimer: Saint Seiya is the property of Masami Kurumada, Toei Productions (anime) and Shueisha.

**Between You And Me**

"You wanted to see me, princess?"

Phoenix Ikki had walked into the room without excusing himself. Saori looked up at him and signaled the chair before her, but he did not move. Oh, this will be the worst part of my day, she thought. The young lady stood up, worried that she might lose the upper-hand she hoped she had, and studied him for a second. Her scrutiny did not intimidate him; in fact, he responded by raising his chin and studying her back. Ikki's eyes sent a shiver down her spine sometimes. Saori was aware that he hated her. He hated her for who she was and for what she represented. He hated her because she was the ultimate reason why he — and, worse, his brother — had been brought into this life. When he looked at her his hostility was almost tangible; standing tall against the wall like that, with a derisive half-smile on his lips, he might easily have been an enemy.

And perhaps he was.

She cleared her head of such thoughts and silently walked around the table to come near him. He still didn't move. Why is he here?, she wondered, looking to his face for an answer. Why has he come here today if he won't come even when I send for him? But his deep blue eyes were impossible to read.

"Last week's meeting was of vital importance..." she began, very solemnly.

"Oh, everything around here is of vital importance to you people. Your meetings are of vital importance, your black-tie dinners are of vital importance, the pigeons' shit in the garden is of vital importance..."

"Watch your language around me, Ikki."

"Have I offended you, princess?" he asked sarcastically, bending his knee in mock reverence.

"Not as much as you have by not being here," she snapped.

"I was previously engaged."

"I'm listening."

"Well, I'm not talking, am I?"

"But you will. You will not leave until you tell me why you weren't here. If it was something that important, I see no reason why you wouldn't tell me about it."

"You never see a reason for your wishes not to be granted."

"Your brother has missed you too, Ikki," she said, ignoring his remark.

"My brother can talk to me whenever he likes."

"We both know that's not true," she spat.

"Well, I'm always there for him when he needs me!" He threw up both his arms.

"As you should be for me!" she cried, in a high-pitched voice that did not suit her, projecting her chin forward to look taller. He was a good eight inches taller than her.

"And why would that be?" he said, crossing his arms before his chest, eyes narrowed dangerously.

"You took an oath!"

"But not for _you_!"

They looked at each other from a distance. Their very silence seemed to be a crescendo, as if the real climax were yet to come. They were opponents — this was what it felt like to fight Phoenix Ikki. She could tell he was strategizing how to hurt her most.

"Should I stay here and watch you make a fool of yourself in front of Seiya?

And his words were indeed as powerful as his fist.

"Is that a question?" she inquired contrivedly, swallowing hard.

"It's an insult!"

"My personal feelings for Seiya or any other saint will not be discussed now."

"What _feelings_? You and your silly notions about love! What do you know about love? You're just a spoiled little brat, the same you've always been!"

"You have absolutely no right to talk to me like that," she answered, looking him in the eyes with calculated calm. She would not give in. She would not lose control.

"I have no wish to talk to you at all. I'm leaving."

"You're not going anywhere."

"I don't take orders from you."

"I forbid you to leave, Ikki," she stated, coming one step closer to him.

"And who's gonna stop me?" he whispered as he came closer to her as well, leveling his gaze with hers. His voice was intimidatingly low, the voice a villain would speak in to his helpless victim. "You're gonna get your little puppy dogs to fight their friend? Or that sadistic butler of yours? Bring it on. I've been looking for an excuse to beat the crap out of him long enough."

"Tatsumi has nothing to do with this, and neither do the other saints. This is between you and me." She walked towards the door, hoping that she did not look as frightened as she felt, and leaned against it, her arms spread wide with unnecessary drama. He gave her a threatening look.

"Step away from the door, Saori."

"I will not."

"Step away."

"I will stay right here."

"Step away from that _door_!" he shouted, slamming his fist against the wall.

She flinched with fear, but did not move. Ikki ran his hands through his hair nervously. Saori could see that he was trying to resist his urge to... She wondered what would happen if he came near her. Pull yourself together, Saori. He won't hurt you.

"You must stay and give me at least a reasonable excuse for not having been here."

"My personal life doesn't concern you, Saori."

This was when her fear gave way to her anger. Now she was mad at him.

"It does when it interferes with ours! It's bad enough that you're never around, that you don't socialize, that you mistreat everyone..."

"What a pretty picture you make of me!" he interrupted, nervously ironic.

"...but to miss a crucial meeting like that one? Shiryu could have been killed!"

"Shiryu can take care of himself! Don't be ridiculous! These are our lives, thanks to you! I can't put everything on hold to hang around here baby-sitting other saints!"

"Put what exactly on hold, Ikki? You still haven't said why you weren't here. I want to hear it."

He raised an eyebrow.

"Well, one can't always have what they want."

"Answer me."

She sounded suddenly authoritarian.

"Answer me, Phoenix Ikki. You were never around much, but lately it's been just absurd. Why weren't you here last week?"

"Didn't I just say it doesn't concern you?"

"Why weren't you—"

"Because I'm in love with you!" he yelled angrily.

Saori withered, speechless. _In love_?

"There! Are you satisfied, princess? Can the servant go now?"

"Ikki..." She felt breathless, breathless and mortified. Ikki was in love with her? The most arrogant and sarcastic and bitter and... _difficult_ of all the saints was in love with her? But he hated her... she was certain that he hated her! Oh, Ikki, Ikki, I am so sorry, I am so terribly sorry...

"Oh, don't give me that _look_." He sounded disgusted. She wondered that he might have read her mind. "Don't give me the look you give _them_! I'm not that stupid, Saori. I was stupid enough to fall in love with you, but I'm not _that _stupid."

Her mind reeled. So this was why he was never around? Did Shun know? Seiya and the others... no one, no one should know... Would he grow even more distant now?

"We need to talk."

"I thought we'd just done that."

"Ikki..."

"There's nothing to say! Let me through," he barked, pulling her away from the door by the wrist. She stumbled and grasped his arm clumsily. He held her elbow. "I'm sorry," he said, helping her startled figure to a chair. "I didn't mean to hurt you." Nor did I, she thought.

"Please, stay and talk to me," she begged, looking up at him and pulling down his hand like a child.

"I think I'm done with the talking today. Goodbye, Athena."

"Ikki..."

But he was gone.

"I'm sorry," she whispered to no one.

* * *

I hope no one hated this too much; it's relatively common among Portuguese-speaking ficwriters to explore Ikki's (un)romantic life, even though I haven't seen much of that in English. Huge Ikki fandom here in Brazil…!

Anyway, I just want to say that I will probably continue working on this story, and that it's set pretty much around the same time as "In Words Unsaid", if anyone around has read that. Please don't ask me to place them within the canonic chronology, because I really wouldn't know! But it's definitely before Hades.

Hey, reviews would be great! Thanks for reading it.


	2. Soulmates

Disclaimer: Saint Seiya is the property of Masami Kurumada, Toei Productions (anime) and Shueisha.

**Soulmates **

"You need one more of those, sugar?"

Ikki spun what little drink was left in his glass, pensively. He needed a thousand more of those, but there was not much money left, and he still did not know where to spend the night. Going back to Japan was of course out of the question — in fact, he would never go back, not if he could help it. There was nothing to go back to, except shame and humiliation. He had spent the last few days ruminating the memories of his biggest mistake. The look in her eyes when he said it: the shock, the repulse, the _pity_, it all came back to him. She pitied him. How could he have been so stupid? How could he have thought she would...?

The saint signaled for the bartender to pour him another glass.

"Got a lot of sorrows to drown?" she asked, smiling.

"How's that any of your business?"

For his surprise, she threw her head back and laughed. "I wasn't interested anyway." Her loose bun came undone in the process, and he noticed that her hair was violet. "What's your name, sugar?"

"Sugar."

She laughed again. Her laughter was silly and filled with reckless joy. "Tell me yours and I'll tell you mine."

"Exactly which part of my frown of exasperation do you not understand?"

"The cute part," she answered, leaning over the counter with a wide smile.

He was disarmed.

"You're not from around here, are you?"

"Is bugging me part of your job description?"

"No, it's just my new hobby."

He could not help but to smile. "I'm from Japan."

"And how does a cute Japanese like you wind up in China?"

He shrugged. "No minimum drinking age."

She laughed again. "How old are you, sugar?"

"Too young to be drinking. And too old to quit."

She smirked.

"You live nearby?" he asked.

"Couple of blocks away. Why?"

"I have no place to stay." He looked her frankly in the eyes.

She raised her eyebrows and smiled maliciously. "I don't have an extra bed."

It was his turn to grin. "What makes you think we need one?"

The girl laughed out loud again, her violet hair framing her pretty face and falling to her shoulders.

"That was the worst line I've ever heard. I hope you don't pick up chicks for a living."

"No," he grinned. "It's just my new hobby."

She gave him a wide smile and said, "Got lucky, sugar. I'm off in fifteen minutes."

An hour later the Phoenix saint was lying half-naked on a bed in a seedy apartment in downtown Beijing, watching a Chinese girl in her underwear stand before a tiny mirror in a bathroom and tie her hair up in a bun. His head was throbbing with traces of alcohol.

"You have beautiful hair."

She did not turn.

"You, being nice? Wow."

"Trying to lure you back into bed."

"You might just make it, sugar," she smiled as she walked towards him. Ikki never knew a Chinese woman could swing her hips so graciously. She sat on the bed and put her hand on his chest. "Why do you have this many scars?"

"Why do you ask this many questions?" he said, pulling her closer. She climbed on top of him, sliding her hands up his chest to his neck and face, and gravely stated:

"The rules of etiquette say you have to abide by your hostess' wishes."

He chuckled and answered, "Very funny."

"What?", she beamed. "I don't make the rules."

He grabbed her by the hips and flipped her over on her back, propping himself up on his elbows and looking straight into her eyes.

"Of course you don't. _I_ do."

* * *

"May I come in?" 

Saori looked up to see Seiya standing on the threshold.

"Please. Is anything wrong?"

"No, you've just been working so hard, I thought I'd come and check on you."

"Thank you, Seiya, that's sweet," you're sweet.

"It's nothing" compared to what I would do for you.

"Sit down, why are you still standing?"

"Well, I was actually wondering if maybe you'd come out for a walk around the garden?"

"Oh, that would be lovely."

"You're not too busy?"

She glanced at the piles of paperwork swamping her desk. Of course she was too busy.

"It can wait," she said lightly, standing up to meet him at the door.

"Then let's go," he said, offering her his arm.

She blushed, but took it — it was so warm. She wanted to lean against him, nest her head in the curve of his neck, and feel the warmth of his body run through hers; to know, as she so often had, when fate threw them in each other's arms, that she need not fear. But her forbidden love was an enemy not even he could protect her from.

They descended the stairs rather quickly, and he held the outside door open for her. There was no one around to hear them speak half-heartedly of the weather, the other saints, Saori's work for the Foundation, or Seiya's last visit to the orphanage. No one witnessed her dreamy smiles, nor his wishful looks. Saori was glad that they were alone. He was so noble, so admirable, that she had to try harder and harder to conceal her doting manners towards him, or the yearning in her eyes when she looked at him. Since that night in the kitchen in Greece, since that kiss — oh, that kiss! —, her relationship with Seiya has changed in a way she did not fully understand, but could not deny. Their shared secret had furnished their words with a sweetness that, however strongly hinted at, had never been so explicit. It was almost as if they had a secret romance, even though they had never kissed again.

"Miho was going to take the children for a picnic out on the beach. Hyoga was talking about going... I think I'm gonna stop by too."

"That sounds adorable."

"Why don't you come along? It'll do you good to take a break."

"Did you say it was today?"

"No, on Friday. Friday afternoon. I'll come and pick you up..." he paused, unsure. "If you want."

"I'd love to. I just have to make sure there are no appointments. I'll go upstairs later and check my schedule."

He smiled warmly. Everything about him was warm. An afternoon at the beach with him, with the children... A walk by the seaside, the sunset, the breeze; maybe it would all conspire?

"And you haven't heard from Ikki?"

She snapped out of her daydream. "What?"

"Ikki. You haven't heard from him at all since the day he was here?"

"Oh. No. But I'm not surprised."

Ikki loves me, she suddenly remembered. Ikki is in love with me.

"Of course, me neither. I spoke to Shun earlier today and he doesn't know where he is either."

"We never know where he is, that's precisely the problem," she said, hoping not to give away her tension.

"Just imagine. I've been struggling so hard to find my sister... and Shun can't find his brother because he won't allow him to."

"It must be hard. Ikki is..." in love with me. "Tortured by old demons. We have to allow him to heal."

But Seiya insisted.

"The way he stormed out of your study that day..."

She cut him short. "I suppose he doesn't like to be questioned.

"But you're Athena!"

She blushed, and Seiya quickly followed. There was a tacit agreement between them not to mention the reason of their doom, but she knew it was impossible to avoid it very long. How long could they possibly pretend? How could anyone have a conversation that forbids the subject of who they are? How could any two people talk without using each others' names?

* * *

"I still don't know your name." 

"What do you wanna know it for?"

"To call you something other than 'sugar'?"

"You've been calling me 'sugar' three days."

"But we haven't talked that much, have we?"

"Then why would we talk now?"

"Because we're too tired to go back to bed and there's no TV."

He stood up from his stool. "How can you have no TV?"

She shrugged. "I'm not around that much."

"Yeh, I get it. I'm hardly ever home myself." He frowned. "But I still own a TV."

She pulled him by the waist and pressed her body to his back, resting her head on his shoulder. "I'd like to see your home."

"There's not much to see."

"Don't you have a job to go back to?"

"I'm on vacation."

"What do you do?"

"I'm a..." he hesitated: "bodyguard."

"Who for?"

"Some rich bitch."

"Is she pretty?" she whispered in his ear.

"She's fine, I suppose."

"Have you ever slept with her?"

He turned around in a split second, securing her wrists in his hands, his nose an inch from hers.

"She's not like you."

Li smiled and circled his hips with her thighs.

"And isn't that a shame?"

"Slut," he muttered out of her kiss.

"Jerk."

The past three days had been filled with this weird mixture of sex, sarcasm and mutual discourteousness. Li met his roughness with an amused indifference that he had never seen in a woman; she always replied to his abruptness with curt answers and sharp wits, matching his language and his manners however low they might be, never offended.

She would never tell him to watch his language around her.

"What's your name?" she asked again as he lay her down on the bed.

"Ikki."

The next morning Ikki got up at dawn and went to the bathroom for his usual cold shower. Li lay deep asleep among the tangled sheets. She was very pretty, her skin pale and her eyes dark, her tiny frame shaped by the curves he now knew by heart, her violet hair spread messily over the pillow. There was even a certain angle from which, if he abstained from looking too carefully, the resemblance was strong enough for him to trick himself into believing he was looking at...

He splashed some cold water on his face. Today he would leave. His trunk, from where his clothes had not been removed, was waiting ready by the door. He intended to do the dishes quietly and go before she woke up. He had been here too long already, entangled in games with his newfound playmate, games of rules unspoken that only the likes of them could understand. Today he would leave, while they could both be winners. There was no need for the mawkishness of a note, not with her. They owed each other nothing — except maybe doing the dishes.

When he was finished in the kitchen he went back into the bedroom to put on a shirt and kiss her goodbye. She was still fast asleep, her breast moving rhythmically and her face a mask of sweet unawareness. He smiled, endeared. She knew nothing about saints, about gods and their battles. She was from a different world.

He bent over her sleeping form and kissed her on the forehead.

"Are you leaving?"

Ikki took a step back, astonished. Li was looking at him attentively. It took him a second to recover.

"Yes."

She nodded acquiescence, looking unsurprised. There was an unresisting sadness in her eyes that he found rather touching. For a moment he wondered if they would really come out both winners.

She did not get up to see him to the door, but sat up in bed to watch him. He walked out of the room he had come to know so well, and opened the door to the hall. Then he stopped. You're going to regret this, he thought. But even so it felt right to ask, without turning back to look at her:

"Aren't you coming?"

* * *

Saori inhaled the salty sea breeze. She could hardly believe she was standing there. It was late, and dark, and yet she had told the driver to wait in the car. This was a moment for privacy. 

Their afternoon had been perfect. Seiya came to pick her up at three, as promised, and they took a car to the beach. Hyoga and Shun were both there, and they all sat around the food talking and laughing for most of the time. It had been so long since she had truly relaxed... At a certain point the boys all went to play with the children, and Miho sat by her side for a chat; Saori never knew she was so nice. They watched together as Seiya took the children for rides on his shoulders, raced them up and down the beach, threw them up into the air to let them flip around into the water. She had seen him fight the most ferocious battles without a moment's hesitation, and here he was now, mingling so perfectly with the children that he might have been mistaken for one. There was such kindness in him, such tenderness.

When the children were hungry and came to eat, their group dispersed: Shun stayed to help Miho, Hyoga went to the orphanage to pick up more beverages, and Seiya invited Saori for a walk. They took a stroll along the seaside, shoes in their hands, the girl holding up her long skirt. Waves washed the sand underneath their feet and the whole world was steeped in the rosy light of sunset. Their arms brushed lightly against each other's sometimes, causing her to uninterruptedly beam. It was exactly as she had imagined.

At a certain point she asked him about his sister, whom Miho had mentioned. Seiya sighed and said he still had no word of her; a new lead had recently appeared, but it was false. Saori felt her heart shrink down; she had promised to find Seika, but never could. The saint, however, did not seem to resent her.

"How do you do it, Seiya?" she asked him. "How can your smile be so constant when there is so much to weep over?"

He merely shrugged.

"I've known no other life."

Now Saori stood before his doorstep, her gloved knuckles seemingly glued to the wooden door, taking deep breaths and playing nervously with her pearl necklace. Seiya's words had prompted her decision. She was tired, so immensely tired of their world of saints, of gods and their battles. That could not be it. That could not be all. She loved him, they loved each other; they were young, and beautiful. _She _had never said she would protect the Earth. _She _had never promised to stay a maiden. _She _had never given up on love. There had to be something more. There had to be more to life than saving lives.

So she knocked.

* * *

Hello, hello! I hope there are Saori/Seiya fans reading this. In fact, I hope there's someone reading this. :) Obviously I intend to go on, and I hope I have the strength to take this story as far as I see it going... But in any case I'll try real hard not to leave it unfinished. 

Oh, the "kitchen scene" Saori thinks about, when she kissed Seiya, is this other fic I wrote. It's been posted here too.

Thanks for reading, reviews awesome. ;)


	3. Till Fate Do Us Part

Disclaimer: Saint Seiya is the property of Masami Kurumada, Toei Productions (anime) and Shueisha.

**Till Fate Do Us Part**

A light in the city found its way through the blinds and hit Ikki's eyes, inciting him to slowly shift in bed, stretching his legs. He seemed to have been spending an incredible amount of time in his bed lately. The past few weeks had been unusually calm. No enemies, no battles. And besides, this was pleasurable — to feel the warmth of his room in the first hours of the night, the chill of fall retained outside, to stretch and turn lazily between the sheets, to reach out for her waist and bury his face in her hair.

Li was sleeping beside him. He still could not believe anyone could sleep as much as she did. Of course the late hours she worked as a bartender accounted for some of it; but in any case it did not seem natural that she would have as much as ten or eleven hours of sleep every single day. It was something to get used to. There was a lot to get used to.

The chinese woman had been living with him for four weeks now. After giving her life in China proper closure, she had come to meet him in Japan — to where he had found the strength to return, after all — and was now a constant and undemanding companion. He had grown accustomed to falling asleep to the scent of her hair, hearing her voice in the morning, having petty arguments with her, and found himself quite fond of it all. Li was gracious, witty, and high-spirited; she found his irritable ways laughable rather than revolting, and did not seem to be bothered by his constant travels. Yes, she asked too many questions, and the sound of her laughter was annoying sometimes; but she never complained when he failed to answer, and she met his humorous tirades with smiles more often than with laughs.

The good outweighed the bad.

Li understood exactly what sort of arrangement she had agreed to. That morning back in China, when he had asked her in the most oblique possible way to come with him, her first response had been to laugh out loud.

"You're so romantic."

"Look, I'm not asking you to marry me or anything," he had cried, uneasy. "Just quit that stupid job, find another one just as stupid in Japan, and spend your days..."

"...in bed with you?"

He twisted his lips into a mischievous grin. "My thoughts precisely. See? We're soulmates."

She laughed again. There was a moment of silence before he resumed.

"Well, that's my final offer, so I'd appreciate it if you made your informed decision in the next five minutes."

"Oh, stop it. You know I can't resist when you act all thoughtful and adorable."

Ikki laughed. She smiled, but her face soon turned serious.

"I'm not in love with you either, you know."

He stared at her blankly, torn between his wounded vanity and his gratitude for her soundness.

"I was seeing this guy. Woke up one morning and he was gone," she continued, with a raised eyebrow and a bitter half-smile, in a feeble attempt to deride her former self. "I've been told he went up North." She paused to reach for one of the cigarettes she smoked sometimes and put it to her lips. "Never even bothered to call."

"So I'm the rebound?"

She shrugged. "Everyone is. He was the love of my life."

"She's the love of my life too," he sighed.

Li nodded.

"So," he began, "you coming?"

"Of course I'm coming. I have nothing to keep me here."

He smirked. "I suppose that's especially true now that the best sex you've ever had will be gone."

"Restrain your speculation to the realm of possibility, kid."

"Oh, I'm sure my competitors are many more than can count."

"But then again, it's not too hard to find a number higher than you can count."

"Surely not as hard as finding a man you haven't slept with."

"Or as hard as seeing grounds for your cockiness."

"Come to Japan with me and you'll see," he smirked.

"Keep your pants on, sugar. I have some stuff to sort out around here."

"I won't wait."

"And when exactly did I ask you to?" she snapped. "I'll meet you there. Can't be hard to find the grumpiest dude in the Far East."

"Grumpy meets slutty."

"Slutty meets bitchy. Do I get to see her?"

"Who?"

She rolled her eyes. "The rich bitch, of course."

"Why would you wanna see her?"

"Just thought I'd check if the leading lady is as pretty as her stand-in."

And now, here she was, a mess of violet hair dressed in a ratty T-shirt, sleeping longer than he had thought humanly possible. He stroked her hair and traced the way down her spine to the small of her back. Yes, he thought, closing his eyes, the good outweighs the bad.

He did not realize he was falling asleep again until he suddenly woke up. He sat up and looked around the room, now filled with the grayish light that precedes dawn, trying to determine what had awaken him. There seemed to be nothing abnormal in the shadows that populated the walls, nor in the usual buzz of the waking city. Li breathed heavily on the opposite side of the bed, one leg thrown over his.

Then he felt it again. Shun. He could feel his brother's unruffled cosmo in the distance, unconscious and asleep; he could sense it as distinctly as the dark and piercing cosmo that approached it, malevolent, treacherous. Murderous.

He rid himself of Li's body, waking her up in the process, and jumped out of bed.

"Why are you getting up?" she yawned.

"They need me at work."

"Why right now?"

"They've paged me," he shouted from the bathroom while digging into the laundry for his red pants.

"But I haven't heard a pager."

He was headed for the door. "It was on vibracall."

Ikki left just in time to hear her cry, "But you were naked!"

* * *

Saori held up her skirt and struggled her tired way up the stairs. She had been on a plane for hours on end, on her way back from Greece, from the Sanctuary, where she had spent three weeks. The time had come to return, for the Foundation must not wait; yet she came home discouraged by the certainty that she had not found what she had been looking for. She had been looking for oblivion, and nevertheless her memories were more vivid than ever. 

The girl changed into a nightgown and sat on the edge of the bathtub to brush her long hair. She could still use jet lag and general exhaustion as an excuse for a day or two, perhaps, but it would soon be inevitable, and she might as well not prolong the agony of anticipation. On Monday I will see him, she promised herself. On Monday I will see Seiya.

It would of course be painful. It was always painful — to long, to yearn, to let out silent screams of frustration when no one was looking —, but her own foolishness had made it all incalculably harder. Even now, alone in her own bathroom, she blushed at the memory of her behavior that night. Saori wiped off her make-up with a tissue and bent over the sink to look at herself in the mirror. Her bare face looked younger, much closer to the age on her I.D.. Much less determinate and less sophisticated. This was the self she hid from the world. This was not the head of the Graude Foundation. This was certainly not Athena. This was 13-year-old Saori Kido.

This was the self that had knocked on Seiya's door on a chilly Friday night four weeks ago. He had opened it almost immediately, and urged her to come in, as she did. He did not wait until she was seated to inquire:

"Is anything wrong?"

"No," she answered. "Well, not anything... urgent."

He sat down beside her, his face a mask of concern.

"Something else, then?"

"Seiya..." she started, realizing that she had not thought of what to say.

"Yes?"

"I've come here to..." Why exactly had she come? "To tell you that..."

"Yes?" he bid again, from the very edge of his seat.

"To tell you that I give up," she finally said, relieved to have found the words. Yes, she had given up.

"I don't understand."

How could the saint of Hope understand what it meant to give up?

"I don't want this anymore. I don't... I can't do this."

"Do what, Saori? What don't you want?"

"All of it. The power, the responsibility... this life!" She stood up, agitated. "I want something different. I want... my own life; a life I have chosen to live. A life I wish to live."

"You've been working too hard," he murmured.

"It's not that!" she spat, somewhat irritably. He seemed intimidated.

"I'm sorry, I just don't see... what is it that you want?"

"I want _this_!" she cried, on the verge of tears, kneeling on the floor before him and taking his face between her hands for a kiss.

It seemed a very long time until he pulled away, long enough for his hand to have found the nape of her neck, and for her face to have grown so used to the closeness of his breath that being severed from it felt like the blow of a very cool breeze. But not as cool as the words that followed.

"Saori, we can't do this."

"Seiya..."

"You're Athena." He sounded determined. "You can't. We can't."

"I give it up," she said, the sound of her voice deranged by a hope that stemmed from obsessive machinations. "I give it all up. We'll run away, you and me. We'll never return."

"We can't do that, Saori!" It was his turn to stand. She sat on the floor, hurt. "I'm a saint of Athena! You _are_ Athena! We're needed, Saori. We're needed here."

"I don't want to be needed!" she yelled.

"Saori, we have no choice."

"No, no, no!" she cried, tears running openly down her face. She felt like a spoiled child kicking and screaming over a toy. "I have a choice! I choose to live! I choose you!"

He sat on his heels to speak to her, pushing her hair away from her face with one hand. She looked at the floor and away from his eyes.

"Saori, you are the reincarnation of Athena. The Earth needs _you_ to protect it, and me to help with it. It's your fate. It's our fate."

She raised her head slowly, coyly, more childish than ever, and he smiled.

"You are the strongest person I know," he had added, standing up and offering his hand to pull her up as well.

They had met again a few days later, when he came to the mansion to see Shun, but Saori felt so humiliated that she could barely speak to him. The next week they met once more, and she strove to look natural, to sound natural, despite her hardly resistible desire to cry. She had not been humiliated by him, but rather had humiliated herself; and to think of his selflessness and sense of duty, in contrast with her own puerile behavior, was almost too much to bear. He had only displayed the qualities that she admired most about him. He had made her love him even more.

So she ran away to Greece, like the coward that she was.

Saori put off the lights and lay on her bed. Her weakness would be concealed in the darkness. She tried to think of work but felt sleep undoing the workings of her tired reason, washing away her thoughts like a tide. Then the image of Seiya came to her mind again, as it always did; and to no one but herself she whispered, "There must be a way."

"There is always a way for my favorite daughter," said the man.

Saori shifted uncomfortably in her cushioned seat. "But I had never been told."

"Of course not," replied Zeus. "It is not to be taken lightly. And it has never been tried."

"But I may try it?"

"At your own risk, if you will."

"And then would I have love?"

"Then you would have love," he confirmed.

"So I will. Tell me what I must do."

"Now, dearest, pay attention. Sit up straight."

Saori woke up sitting in her bed, alarmed. She could sense it very clearly, on the other end of the long hall. It had no light, no heat. It was unlike any cosmo she had ever felt.

And it was in Shun's room.

* * *

Hello, my three readers. :) (Well, I actually have four people to thank for very kind reviews. Yay. :)) I hope no one is broken-hearted about Seiya and Saori. :) Or bored with Ikki and Li (am I the only one who thinks she's perfect for him?). :) Anyway, next chapter I'll get Phoenix in the mansion, and then we'll really see some action. See you then (or in reviews...), thanks for reading! 


	4. The Right Thing to Say

Disclaimer: Saint Seiya is the property of Masami Kurumada, Toei Productions (anime) and Shueisha.

**The Right Thing to Say**

When Ikki arrived at the mansion, the five cosmos of Athena and his fellow Bronze saints were burning bright in the hall before Shun's room.

"Brother!" the boy cried.

"What happened here?" barked Ikki, lightly squeezing his brother's shoulder while turning to the other saints for an answer. It was Shiryu who first addressed him.

"We still don't know. We all came as soon as we felt it."

"A dark, cold cosmo," Hyoga added.

"I had never felt anything like it," said Seiya.

"It came straight into Shun's room," explained Shiryu, "and disappeared the moment he opened his eyes. Whoever it was, we don't understand why they didn't even attempt to cross the hall..." his voice broke off and the five young men looked at Saori, who was standing quietly a few feet away. Her room was the last down the hall.

"I think I saw someone standing beside my bed." Shun spoke for the first time. His voice was tense, but firm.

"You didn't see who?", Ikki insisted.

The boy shook his head.

"The strangest is that we can't feel it anymore," pondered Hyoga. "It vanished completely."

Ikki looked around worriedly, more because he wanted to feel involved than for any hope of success. Whoever had come was long gone already.

"It seemed almost as if..." Seiya hesitated.

"They were coming for me," finished Shun, letting out a sigh of resignation. Ikki gave him an affectionate look, and he almost smiled. "But I'm fine," he assured.

"Maybe someone was trying to steal your cloth?" Shiryu ventured.

"It's possible," answered Shun. "But in that case I don't understand why they wouldn't even try to take it."

"The cloth would not have assembled itself on any other saint's body," objected Hyoga.

Ikki smirked and raised his hand discreetly. "First-hand experience with that right here."

"Stealing it would be as useless as stealing a locked safe," added Hyoga. "Just plain silly." And he glared at Ikki.

"Shall we discuss this in my study?" Saori finally suggested, soft-spoken. They all looked at her as if they had not seen her there. "I'll bring us all some tea. We have no hope of going back to sleep anyway."

Ikki, who had not yet paid attention to her figure, now took a closer look at the girl standing before him. She was wrapped in a silken robe and had no make-up on; any other girl of her age would be distraught and disoriented to wake up to such mayhem, but not her. She looked as collected as usual, her voice impassible, her composure so great that she had not even forgotten her additional role as the perfect hostess in their surreal little sketch. There she stood, sleepy at most, offering her study and cups of tea for five restless young men to discuss what had probably been an attempt of murder, five doors away from her own bedroom.

How could he not love her?

"Probably not a good idea to go downstairs alone, Saori. I'll come with you."

_Seiya_. The epitome of heroism. A classic fool. Never more than one step away from her, always petulantly solicit, always ready; he had long played the rebel, but to Ikki he seemed as absurdly submissive as the rest of them, except for that hint of... _courtly love_ towards his damsel in distress. Ikki felt his lower eyelids twitch upward with disgust. And the way she responded — the way she smiled at him and looked at him and touched his arm with the tips of her fingers, it all innerved him to a point past his tolerance.

What was hard to determine was whether he would have been equally nauseated had her lovesick attentions been addressed to himself.

Get a room, already, he thought, watching the young duo go downstairs side by side, and turned around abruptly to enter the study. Shun followed, at his heels.

"Do you have an idea what may have happened, brother?"

"No, Shun."

"Do you think they're coming back?"

"I don't know, Shun."

"Do you think they came for me?"

"I don't know, Shun." He felt suddenly very tired. "I don't know."

* * *

Saori lay the tray down on the coffee table.

"Here's some green tea... for Athena's saints," she smiled.

They all thanked her and reached for the cups. Except Ikki.

"Now," she began, sitting down in her armchair with her own steaming drink. "Have you come to a conclusion?"

The saints glanced at each other. It was Shiryu who spoke.

"We know very little at this point. But we all agree..." he looked at Hyoga.

"This was no ordinary enemy. The cosmo we felt was alien to anything we have encountered so far."

"My room was physically cold when I woke up," Shun confirmed. "Colder than the rest of the house, that is. Whatever is was... it was very powerful."

"We must be prepared," announced a serious Hyoga. "I have a feeling that this was not the end of it. I will stay today and probably tomorrow."

"I will stay as well," added Seiya, and Shiryu nodded his accordance.

Only Ikki was quiet. Saori glanced at him, but said nothing.

She was tired. The low sound of the boys' voices was like a lullaby to her sleepy head. I mustn't sleep, she repeated to herself like a mantra, hoping that no one would notice how near to closing her eyes were, or how low her chin drooped when she relaxed. I mustn't sleep.

But she wanted to sleep. She wanted desperately to sleep and to find her father again; to find Zeus, and ask him what the answer was. _There is always a way for my favorite daughter_. The god's words lingered in her ears like the sound of a favorite song. What could he have meant? What could be the way?

From the time of myth, Athena had been one of the three Maiden Goddesses. The patron of Athens had never taken an interest in sex or romantic love; Saori well recalled the story of the incident with Hephaestus, who had attempted to rape the deity. Her asexuality was sometimes said to have sprung from a curse cast by Zeus; regardless of whether that was true or not, Athena's sacred virginity was known to have been traded for her rule over the Earth, and therefore perpetuated through all of her reincarnations. For Saori, the immaculate bride of Man, to pursue a romantic — or worse, a sexual — interest meant a failure to hold up her end of the bargain, and thereby lose her dominion over mankind, leaving it vulnerable to the greedy inclinations of other gods. Seiya was right. It simply could not be done.

Unless... unless there were a way.

She would not tell him. There was no need, at least not now, when so little was known. No, she would wait. For now, she would speak to him in private and apologize sincerely, perhaps praise his righteous sobriety; they would part ways formally, a goddess and her saint, their love a casualty of war; and she would be left alone again to cultivate her secret hopes.

Now, however, there were more critical matters to attend to. Across the room from her, cornered in the opposite couch, sat Andromeda Shun. Simmering power leashed by kindness. He had been living uninterruptedly in the mansion for several months now, a welcome accomplice to late-night small feasts and strolls around the grounds in sunny days. The green-haired saint was usually the last person she said goodnight to, when he passed by her study on his way to the bedroom. Saori sighed. Those weeks of peace had been so immensely wholesome for all of them, and now... now, this. He doesn't seem scared, she remarked to herself. She observed his attentive eyes shift focus from one to another of his friends as they took turns speaking, speculating; and then meet hers. She smiled reassuringly, a gesture which he mirrored. Saori noticed that he clung to his brother in every sense of the word.

Oh, _his brother_.

There he was, sitting beside Shun. How could two people so closely tied by bonds of love and blood be so radically different? Even their postures as they sat in the couch were different. Shun sat upright and even a little stiff; Ikki, on the other hand, had installed himself so spaciously that she sensed a desire to tease her with the banner of excessive familiarity. He did not look at her. He had hardly looked at her since he had gotten to the mansion, although this was the first time they had seen each other in over one month; in their last encounter, he had broken the unsettling revelation that now caused her to feel awkward and uncomfortable staring at him. Saori had spent many hours of that interlude trying to spot signs of love in her memories of his previous conduct. There had been no success. Ikki's love, although she did not doubt it, was very hard to trace in his words or behavior. It was unlike any feeling she had been offered before. She felt her gaze drift involuntarily from him to Seiya.

But now Ikki would have to look at her. She intended to keep him in the study when the other saints left and, without prelude, ask him to stay. She was determined to do everything in her power to keep him under her roof, for at least forty-eight hours.

She had absolutely no doubt that their visitor that night had been looking for Shun.

* * *

He was getting up when he heard her voice.

"Ikki, may I speak to you for a second?"

Ikki fought his urge to answer, "No", and turned on his heels while everyone else left the room.

"Won't you sit down?" she asked.

For his own sardonic pleasure, he chose to stand.

"Well, then," she assented, as if he had spoken. She was still seated in her huge throne-like armchair. "I understand you intend to leave. Is that correct?"

"Why do you ask questions to which you already know the answer?"

"I would rather be redundant than be wrong," she replied.

Ouch, he thought. "Yeh, I'm leaving today. Right away, actually." What could she possibly want? Did she not see how humiliating it was for him to stand there before her, the brand of unrequited love burning through his skin?

"I want to ask you to stay," she said, after a pause.

His pulse accelerated painfully. She was asking him to stay. The love of his life was asking him to stay.

No, he told himself, shaking his head imperceptibly. Athena is asking me to stay.

"And why would that be?"

"Why do _you_ ask questions to which you already know the answer?" she grinned.

He struggled not to smile. "I don't know the answer."

"Of course you do. Shun is in danger."

"Don't you mean _you_?" He crossed his arms.

"No," she asserted. "I know you would only do this for Shun."

You couldn't be more wrong, he thought. "That's all the more reason for you to use his name."

"Are you accusing me of lying?" she asked, standing up astounded.

"Do you need a signed confession?"

Saori glared at him, agape. Soon she recollected herself and hissed, "I demand an apology."

"Weren't you asking me something just now? I think you're in no position to bargain." He was determined to take her to the edge.

"I do not bargain."

"Of course not. You'd rather cheat."

"I will not tolerate your insults in my own home," she snorted.

"Which is precisely why I'm leaving!"

"You are _impossible_!" she cried, throwing her arms in the air. "I'm trying to protect your brother and this is how you react! I can't win with you!"

"You still didn't know that?" he scorned.

"I will not stand here and be game for your outrageous contempt!"

"You don't have to. I'm leaving." He turned around.

"No, you're not!" She sounded furious. "You will apologize, and you will _stay_!"

"And what are you gonna do?" He spun on his place. "Get on the way to the door again?"

Saori blushed. He felt his own blood rush up to his face, but did not yield.

"If I have to."

Ikki grinned. "You're not supposed to use the same technique on the same saint twice, you know." Then he walked up to her, serious, and whispered, "I won't spare you this time." He could almost hear her heart pound in her panting chest. It felt good to scare her.

"Are you threatening Athena?"

"I'm threatening _you_."

There passed a shadow of surprise in her eyes, but it was soon replaced with confidence. She lifted her chin and came as close to his face as she could. He laughed inwardly at the certainty that underneath her long dress she was standing on the tips of her toes. "I'm not afraid of you," she declared.

He could have bridged the inch-wide gap between his lips and hers and kissed her. He could have taken her small waist between his hands and drawn her closer. He could have run one hand up her back to entangle itself in her hair, and used the other to trace the line of her jaw and cup her cheek.

But he did not.

Instead he sat down under her incredulous stare, and asked, addressing her original request as if nothing had been said since she uttered it, "So you think they came for Shun?"

She stood bewildered for a few seconds, then laughed. "You're just amazing."

He smirked. "The feeling is mutual."

* * *

After the saints left for the training grounds, Saori returned to her study for the beginning of her workday. She made a mental summary of her early morning. Ikki, after bestowing her insults and threats — oh, the joys of being loved by a rebel! —, had let himself be persuaded to stay, and headed for the yard after breakfast with the others. Apparently "I'm not afraid of you", uttered from the very tips of her toes, had been the right thing to say — she should try that more often. Hyoga, Shiryu and Seiya, seemingly insensitive to the appeal of driving her insane, had kept their promise without a single insult or threat. Shun was more excited with the presence of his brother than worried about the possibility of being murdered later in the evening — presumably oblivious to the fact that for Saori the presence of his brother _meant_ the possibility of being murdered later in the evening.

Ikki notwithstanding, however, all loose threads had been tied and now all she had to do was work for a few hours; lunch would be served at one, as was the custom. A reunion of the five saints — or, rather, of Ikki with absolutely anybody else — was potentially explosive; but since Seiya, being engaged in plans with the children, could not attend, and Ikki, being Ikki, would probably refuse to, she knew the meal would be none other than pleasant and uneventful. Then would come an afternoon of work, then dinner, then some evening entertainment (she sighed at the thought of Ikki and Hyoga fighting for the remote), and finally sleep.

Harmless, all things considered, except for one little task to perform before lunch. The task she had been dreading for four weeks: Seiya had been requested to come and see her before he left.

The time had come to apologize.

Saori buried herself in her work, and when she next glanced at the clock, the time had come indeed. It was little past noon, and Seiya had said something about going out at 12:30. It was not long before he peeped into the office.

"May I come in?"

Awkward moment number 2, she announced to herself. "Of course," she answered, standing up. "Please, sit down." She signaled the couch.

"Oh, you don't mind?" he asked, making a tentative motion to sit down. "I came straight from training. I didn't know if this was gonna be long, so I came before showering. I'll probably ruin your couch."

She noticed that sweat glistened on his shoulders and ran down his moist hair and neck. His face was delicately colored with a rush of blood. Saori felt embarrassed with the realization that he looked very attractive.

"Oh, well, it's up to you," she muttered, not wanting to sound too encouraging — it was a handsome couch, after all. Thankfully, he shook his head no and thanked her. She fought back a sigh of relief for his unusual tact and said, "Then I'll stand as well."

"What was it that you wanted to—"

"Oh, you must be in a hurry. Well, it's nothing much, really, I just wanted to..." She paused to look him in the eyes, shifting her weight on her legs uncomfortably. This was not what she had imagined. "Apologize."

"Apologize? What for?"

"Well..." Would she have to spell it out? "For that night... at your apartment."

"Oh!" he cried, driving one hand into his hair, uncomfortable himself. Is it possible that he actually forgot?, she wondered. "Oh, there's nothing to apologize for. You were... tired, overworked..."

In love with you, she finished off wordlessly.

"We all succumb from time to time," he resumed in a conclusive tone.

"You never do," she smiled.

He laughed awkwardly and shrugged. "Things aren't always what they seem."

Are they not? She recalled a distressed Seiya kneeling down to her feet, head cradled between her hands on her lap, bare shoulders showered with her tears of mourning for the future that would not come. "Things are seldom fair around here," he had said that night in Greece. And afterwards, on the stairs, he had kissed her.

He had succumbed then, had he not?

No. It had not been him to surrender, but her. She had been the one to cry overtly, to let him know; and although it had been him to kiss her, that was nothing she had not attempted before — after all, had it not been for Shaina...

No, things were exactly as they seemed. It had always been her to succumb.

"You're really not coming for lunch with the children, huh?"

Saori realized that he was trying to change the subject.

"Well, I really shouldn't leave, when everyone's here."

"Too bad I can't stay."

"That's ok. We can have dinner together."

"Oh. Of course." He was blushing.

She detected the ambiguity and corrected herself. "All of us."

"So, I'm leaving."

"Oh, alright. I'll see you later."

"See you," he waved, and left.

Succumbing once more, she let herself tumble on the couch, glad to be out of his sight. Father, please let there be a way... Everything was suddenly so... difficult. When had things become so complicated? It was as if the unresolved tension between them was now so great that... there was no room for anything else. And it was no one's fault but hers. She, and she alone, had brought this on both of them. She smiled tenderly at the recollection of how warm their relationship had been after Greece; long walks, long talks... it felt so good to be around him, to chat with him; it was easy, and fun, and she did not have to...

"Trouble in paradise, princess?"

Saori sat up disconcerted, embarrassed to have been caught with her guard down by Phoenix Ikki, of all people, with his trademark derisive half-smile and his mocking eyes. Here was a good example of things she did not have to worry about with Seiya.

"Have you been shown to your room yet, Ikki?"

"I don't need a room. I'll sleep in Shun's."

"That's unnecessary," she objected. "There is plenty of room for everyone."

"Considering that my brother's life is in danger, I don't think it's a good idea to have a wall between us."

She raised her eyebrows, surprised by his concern, but recomposed herself quickly. It's not really surprising, is it?

"If you insist."

"I do."

"Is there any other way I can help you, then?"

He grinned ironically. "Should I try you on that one?"

She felt her face turn crimson red and started to stammer incoherently.

"I was wondering," he began, his face a mask of naiveté, "what happened to Seiya."

"What?" she asked, puzzled.

"He seemed so agitated when he left... we crossed ways on the stairs. He was talking to you, wasn't he?"

"He was... but I don't know what may have distressed him."

"Of course you don't," he grinned.

"I need to work, if you don't mind," she said

"I won't stand on your way," he replied docilely, turning around to leave. But at the door he arrested himself. "You know, this is probably the wrong thing to say..."

She straightened herself, curious and apprehensive.

"...but if you knocked on _my_ door," he continued, still not looking at her, "even though it's wrong and yada yada yada... I'd open it. I'd open it every single night for the rest of my life."

And he walked out, leaving a mortified Saori to grope her way back around the desk, wondering if it was wrong to feel flattered.

* * *

Hi there, everyone! Hope you've had a great Christmas! I wish I could have posted this yesterday, both to keep up with the every-three-days pace and to sort of leave it as a Christmas gift; but Christmas Eve is big here in Brazil, so I was busy. :)

I just wanna say that I'll likely be updating (a little) less often now, 'cause I'm going away on a short vacation, but that doesn't mean we won't see the end of this. ;)

And don't forget... reviews equals awesome. :)

(Oh, time for advertising: "that night in Greece" is the night I wrote about in "In Words Unsaid"; Saori thinks about it reasonably often because it was the first time she kissed Seiya — who, as you may have noticed :), she's in love with.)


	5. Written in The Stars

Disclaimer: Saint Seiya is the property of Masami Kurumada, Toei Productions (anime) and Shueisha.

**Written in The Stars**

Ikki walked out of the mansion with large, determinate steps. Sunlight wounded his eyes and fresh air burnt his lungs when he crossed the threshold and plunged into the glorious morning. He would go to his apartment, pick up some clothes, take a shower, check on Li if she were home. It crossed his mind to take her into the shower with him, which occasioned the momentary demise of his worried frown. But even if he did drag her into the shower, as he often did in the morning, with the alleged purpose of extricating her from bed at a reasonable hour, he would have to come back — back to that house and its ghosts, back to the friends he wished he could appreciate, back to the girl he wished he could not. Back to the life that would never be his.

How could he not, after what Saori had told him? Someone was after his brother.

"There's an ancient prophecy," she had said in her study, during their meeting at the wee hours of that very morning. "It says that the paths of two gods will cross — at the body of a saint of Athena."

"What's that to do with my brother?"

She had been pacing restlessly around the study, in a manner discordant from her usual tranquility, and upon hearing his question she headed for the window and turned her back to him, looking out on the street. But he pressed for an answer, standing up behind her.

"What's that to do with my brother, Saori?"

"I think it's him," she finally said.

He expected that, but thought for some reason that he should affect surprise.

"Why? What makes you think so?"

She turned to him and examined his face attentively before answering:

"It's the way the prophecy describes the saint. 'Simmering power leashed by kindness'."

Now he walked alone out of the gloomy manor, a faint understanding of what had happened that night only just emerging from his tired mind, worn to shreds by too many hours of proximity to the face that blinded his vision and the voice that deafened his ears. The gardens of the Kido mansion were like an explosion to the senses, with its galaxy of shades of green and its orchestra of small things performing for no one but himself — so different from the gray vicinity of his apartment on the cheap side of Tokyo, where whores were inexpensive but no one could afford to fall in love, and every night a host of outcasts hopped on a merry-go-round of neon lights to celebrate their secondhand lives.

* * *

He mounted the dim dirty staircase that led to his home and opened the unlocked door. Li was in bed, as usual, dressed in underwear and a white tank top, shoulders against the headboard and knees pulled to her chest, supporting what appeared to be an open book. She had revealed herself to be quite the bookworm; the Beijing native still struggled with written Japanese, but her love of literature had earned her the sympathy of an old lady from the first floor who owned a seemingly endless collection of Chinese prose.

"You're home early," she remarked without looking at him.

"I just came for some stuff. Turns out I may be out a few days."

"Work?"

"Yeh."

"You gonna take the bike?"

"No, I won't be needing it. Keys are in my first drawer."

"I know. I used it this morning."

"So you weren't just lying there all day?"

"No," she smiled. "I went for breakfast."

"You never eat breakfast." He kissed her on the forehead by way of greeting.

"I did today. I couldn't go back to sleep after you left."

"Worried?" he smirked.

"Yeh, for the people who actually depend on you for their personal safety!"

He laughed and started collecting the empty cans of soda on his nightstand.

"You have a problem, you know," he teased. This never failed to annoy her.

"You do the hours that I do," she said, irritated and self-righteous, "then you come talk to me about having an addiction to caffeine."

"The worst is that I'll end up just like you," he snapped, finishing the remainder of one of the cans.

"And the world will be forever grateful," she completed in a sing-song voice. "Hey, can you get me another one from the fridge?"

"How many have you had?" he inquired, raising an eyebrow, but headed for the kitchen anyway.

"Only one, actually. The other one is from last night."

He tossed her another and warned, without the dimmest notion of what he was saying, "This stuff ruins your kidneys."

"Well, I'll drink to that," she laughed, raising her can in a mock toast. "Live fast, die young" was Li's motto.

After showering — alone — he slipped into boxers and a T-shirt and sat next to her on the bed, taking her unresisting form in his arms. He slid her top halfway up her torso to trace the bumps of her ribs with his coarse fingers. She was so skinny, so pretty, so... tragic. She was eight years older than him and probably the toughest woman he had ever met, but sometimes he felt as if she were a child he were assigned to protect. She did not belong here, in the cheap side of town, in his seedy apartment, on his ragged sheets; she did not belong with him. He tightened his grip to bring her closer, trying to imagine what it would be like to love her.

"I want you to promise me something," she suddenly whispered, in a tone that he found heartbreaking.

"What is it?"

"Promise me that when you leave for good you won't come back to say goodbye."

He pushed her away from his chest gently, one hand on her neck to make her look at him. In her eyes there was no trace of tears; nothing but unwavering determination.

"That's stupid."

"Just promise it, Ikki."

She never called him Ikki.

"Why do you want me to promise you that?"

"Because otherwise I'll always expect you to come back. Even if it's just one last time."

"Li..." he tried, feeling his eyes drift away from hers.

"It's ok, sugar. We both know one day you won't."

* * *

He had been star-gazing in the balcony for perhaps half an hour when the shadow of a long-haired girl appeared next to him. Gloved hands curled around the balustrade, no more than a foot apart from his own. From the corner of his eye he could see her raise her head to the stars without looking at him. He did not look at her either. There was no need to.

Ikki had been back at the mansion for a few hours, mostly shut in his brother's bedroom, alternating between the boy's company and the shapes of the cracks on the ceiling. In this house he could find no peace; he never could. There was not much to do except to tap nervously on the surface of time, and wait — wait for the enemy, for the answer, for redemption. Wait for love, he thought.

"Did you eat?" she asked suddenly after a few minutes of silence, as if they had been talking all along.

"Yes."

She nodded, and they were quiet again for a few minutes.

"When do you think it will be?" It was his turn to break the silence.

"What?" she asked, distractedly.

"The war."

"I don't know. Soon, I suppose," she answered half-heartedly, as if they were still talking about dinner.

"That prophecy you told me about—"

"Yes?"

"What does it mean?"

"I don't know."

"Is there more to it than what you told me?"

"Yes."

"But you're not gonna tell me the rest." It was not a question.

"No."

There was yet another long pause before she asked:

"Do you know the story of Andromeda?"

"Of course. Sacrificed to Poseidon for mankind."

"Yes. Andromeda, and therefore the cloth, have always been associated to martyrdom and self-sacrifice. From the dawn of the legend, all saints of Andromeda have—"

"What?" he interrupted, turning to her for the first time, in nervous anticipation.

"Followed their patron's course."

"What?" he repeated, incredulous.

"Every saint of Andromeda so far has put himself through some sacrifice of the kind, in the name of Athena. I'm sure you understand that—"

"That goes for Shun."

She nodded. "There is a good chance that Shun's fate involves sacrificing himself for mankind."

"You mean for you," he hissed bitterly.

Saori stared at him with her shoulders pulled back, a picture of dignity incarnated, and said, "I would never ask any saint to do that for me."

"You don't have to!" cried Ikki, his tone more desperate than angry. "Don't you understand? It's all for you! Everything, every little thing we do, all five of us, in the end it's all for you. It's all because of you." He paused, overwhelmed, but found the strength to add, ironically, "Or did you think we asked for this?"

Saori answered with a step back. Even in the dark he could see that she looked shocked, and hurt. He was hurt too. He was hurt to realize that no matter how much he loved her, part of him would always hate her; that no matter how much he ached for her, part of him would always ache for revenge. After all, it was because of her. Because of her he and his brother, at an age too tender to believe, had been brought to this house by tall men in black suits and sunglasses who claimed to follow the orders of the man he would later find was his own father. They had laughed sarcastically at his protests and told him it must be — it was written in the stars.

At that house, where the lives of a hundred boys were robbed and offered to gods undeserving of their worship, he had clung to the hope that one day his fate would again be his own. So he had seen himself as well as his brother through training so harsh that it made him numb to the pain, the pain of beating and being beaten, the pain of cheerful sessions of torture, the pain of forgetting what it felt like to cry. And there, after fought-back tears too many to count, he had learned that the gods he was being offered to had decided to play one more jest: he was to be shipped away to hell. Which, one infamous rainy day, he was.

From that day on he had descended deeper and deeper in a spiral of gratuitous violence and needless deaths, in fields so fertile to the culture of hatred that his own loving feelings towards the brother he had left, and the sweet little girl so resembling of him, felt unnatural sometimes. And then had come that day, that unspeakable day, when Esmeralda's blood had made what his master had sown finally spring out of his heart.

He had always said she had a hand for gardening.

Then he had surrendered, not to hatred, as he knew all too well now, but to the pain. To make his pain more real he had ruled the hellish island, he had opened its gates to let out its demons, he had fought his brother and his former friends. He had been his own downfall. He wanted to see where the spiral ended; how low he could fall before it was too much to bear. Eventually he had emerged, as if from a shipwreck, but even now that the nightmare was finally over, he knew he could never go back to the surface. He would never get used to so much light.

All because of her.

And now, now that he had fallen prey to her delicate features and her kind smile, and to the way she always thought before speaking, and to the sound of her stifled giggles when she thought it inappropriate to laugh, and to how her voice came out funny when she tried to lie, now that his suffering had been crowned with the supreme humiliation of falling in love with the ultimate source of all his misfortunes, now he understood that he was doomed to love her for who she was, and hate her for what she represented.

When Saori finally broke the silence, it was in a small voice, the voice of someone who had long given up the hope of being heard. "And you think I did?", she whispered.

He felt a crack within him, a tear. Her words had torn something. Everything that followed seemed to happen in slow motion for added drama, as in a movie. It did not take him longer than a split second to understand what he had done, but when he reacted she had already turned, and was walking back inside, wounded, dejected. He reached forward for her wrist, trying to make her turn, to make her stay, to make her listen to him, listen to him say that now it did not matter, none of it mattered, not anymore. He seized her hand, perhaps a little too forcefully, and he saw her violet strands travel slowly across her back as she spun abruptly, tears in her eyes, lips ready to word something that he probably had no wish to hear. But as so often happened in their world, any potential unfolding was put off indefinitely by the appearance of an intense purple glow that seemed to irradiate from within one of the manor's windows. And when Saori finally spoke, her voice was but a stifled cry:

"Shun!"

* * *

Hey, you. :) Well, I hope I haven't made you wait too long. I'll try to post again within the next three or four days, during which I'll still be in town (and online!); then I'm going away again and it will take a little longer — but not too long, really.

Oh, something I've been meaning to say since I began writing: there's a hyphen in "star-crossed", but for some reason does not accept hyphens in titles and summaries, so... And, well, since I'm at it, let me be a nag and remind everyone that the word was coined by Shakespeare in the prologue of Romeo & Juliet, and it means "ill-fated" — I know mentioning it sounds kid of presumptuous, but it would be really lame if readers missed that. :)

Alrightey, see you soon!


	6. Of Gods And Ghosts

Disclaimer: Saint Seiya is the property of Masami Kurumada, Toei Productions (anime) and Shueisha.

**Of Gods And Ghosts**

Saori was waiting anxiously at the bottom of the staircase. Seiya was uneasy too; she could tell he wanted to climb the stairs at the speed of sound and take part in whatever was making so much noise on the upper floor. But instead he just glanced up nervously every four or five seconds, then looked back at her.

Someone had broken into the house — or, more likely, teleported inside it — while she and Ikki talked, or rather not-talked, out on the balcony. He had not displayed so much as a moment's hesitation before unexpectedly taking her in his arms and carrying her into the house to deposit her in front of Seiya. While climbing the stairs, he had yelled down, "You stay here with her!" Seiya claimed he would come along and fight, but Ikki was firm: "I got this, Pegasus. Take care of the girl."

Not "Take care of Athena." "Take care of _the girl_."

Now "the girl" paced nervously behind Seiya, her exhausted mind divided between the disturbing prospect of kidnap and flashing memories of Ikki's resentful words. _It's all because of you_. How ironic that seconds after saying that he would have to rush to save his brother's and his own life from an attack that was obviously connected to her presence. This too was because of her.

Who would deny that? It all had been done for her; for Athena, yes, but who was Athena if not her? All those years of training. She had heard them speak of training sometimes — of how one's knuckles were pounded raw and how sometimes they would stay so for days, the short intervals between sessions not being long enough for skin to grow back; of how one's peers fell lifeless one by one, in some cases so often that the corpses were buried five or six at a time, and the dead lay in the open until the next communal funeral. One hundred boys had been sent away, and only ten came back. _Ten_. And still she would not leave them alone.

She heard the voices of Hyoga and Shiryu approach the upper end of the staircase, and Seiya climbed a few steps.

"What's going on?" he shouted up.

"This is not our battle. Ikki and Shun are in their room," answered Shiryu.

"Who's the enemy?"

The two saints exchanged looks before Hyoga answered:

"We don't know. It's a woman."

* * *

"Who the hell are you?" barked Ikki after Hyoga and Shiryu had closed the door behind them. 

The hooded woman let out a giggle.

"Haven't I already told you? I'm this young boy's sister!" She pointed at a startled Shun. "Can't one call on one's relatives any longer?"

"Shut up, you little vixen!" he yelled. "That's my little brother. You got the wrong address. Now get out or I'll have you buried in that very garden."

She laughed maniacally. "I'm glad to see he's well attended to! Too bad it won't last very long," and, turning to Shun: "You're coming home soon, brother."

"Who are you?" it was Shun's turn to inquire.

"Oh, how I wish you could recognize me!" she exclaimed, her tone suddenly grave. "How I wish I would kneel down before you and kiss your hands!" She made a motion towards him, setting the chains on edge. Shun flinched instinctively while Ikki interposed himself to the two, pushing her violently.

"Back away!"

She let out a gasp as the blow threw her onto the wall, but recovered herself quickly.

"You take good care of the boy, Phoenix."

"I'd go all the way to hell for him," he hissed.

The woman burst into hysterical laughter. "How delightfully convenient!"

"Who are you?" repeated Shun, with a note of anguish.

"I suppose there is no harm in saying it," she sounded like she was grinning underneath her cloak, "since you won't remember it anyway."

Thin, perfectly-manicured fingers secured the edges of the black hood and pushed it over her head to reveal the face of a woman. Black hair with dark overtones of violet cascaded down her shoulders and framed her sad eyes, pinkish and bright like gems incrusted on a porcelain face. There was a halo of otherworldliness about her, and the glow in her eyes seemed unnatural. Ikki decided she was pretty, but not attractive.

"My name is Pandora."

* * *

Saori awoke bathed in sweat. All seemed still and dark and quiet, but she could sense them moving swiftly in the shadows, too quick for her eyes, but not for her mind. They were there. They were always there. 

They teased her, derided her, came close to her face and almost touched her, then backed away laughing. They joined hands and danced about her while she turned around endlessly and desperately, but she could never see their faces, oh, she could never see their faces. They had no faces — the ghosts of children have no faces, because no one will ever know what they would have looked like. Especially the ghosts of these children: the ninety boys who had died infants, thousands of miles away from home, knuckles raw from excessive training, miniature corpses piled up against the corner to make clusters of five or six, because there was no time for individual funerals. Who could know what sort of men they would have been?

They had all died now. Ninety children had died, because here was one child who must not.

Saori stood up, driving her fingers into her hair to pull the roots, and wandered aimlessly around her oversized bedroom. She could sense them lurking everywhere, under the bed and behind the door, in her closet and out on the balcony, waiting to tell her that the ten remaining boys must die and keep them company. "We're running out of playmates", they would cry. "You must send us the boys," "Surely you won't miss them!"

"I won't," she whispered, "I wouldn't." Her anxious gulps and distraught figure were lost among a multitude of ghostly sighs and flickering forms. The specters were growing more visible now, their silvery outlines sharper in the moonlight; and their voices, she could almost hear their voices, childish though malicious. She could almost hear them beg, "Send us the boys, Ms. Kido, send them out to play!"

Wherever she looked, something seemed to have just walked out of sight; she shifted incessantly, hoping to surprise one of— but they were always gone one second too soon. They offered her hands she could never reach, suplicating hands all stretched towards her like the hands of beggars when the rich enter the slums. And they murmured continually, in a choir of whispers that sounded from whichever direction she had just turned her back to:

"But they must die and prove their worth!"

Their voices, their voices like the voices of demon children.

"They must die for you like we did!"

They reeled and reeled as in a merry-go-round.

"They must die so you can live!"

"No one is going to die!" she yelled frantically, spinning round in hope of a face she could speak to, beg to, lie to, but all she saw were the rapidly changing images of her empty bedroom and her bed the nightstand a window a rug another window curtains closet door walls immense desolate walls a dresser her mirror — a reflex! She turned around suddenly, a little dizzy. Someone was at the door— they had sent someone, their leader— she must speak to him, she must tell him that—

But the leader of the ghosts raised his hand threateningly, and suddenly she understood that he had come not to talk, but to collect. He was going to kill her five Bronze saints in their sleep. He was going to make them into five of her bedroom's almost-there inhabitants. So she did the only thing she could do, leaping forward to meet him and taking his ghostly hands desperately:

"Take me instead!"

* * *

Ikki was still awake, trying to remember what had happened. The last thing he could recall before being picked up by Shiryu was entering Shun's room with Cygnus, to find his brother and the Dragon already there, and the hooded form of a woman standing by the window. After that, there was a blank in his memories like damaged tape, and the next image was that of Shiryu's bent over him, shaking his shoulders and calling his name. 

In their reunion in Saori's study after the attack, Hyoga and Shiryu told them that a woman wearing a long black cloak with a hood had been standing opposite to Shun in his room when they burst in together with Ikki. She giggled maniacally and declared that she had come to pay a mere visit to her dear brother — apparently meaning Shun, by this time safely pinned in the middle of his Rolling Defense. They had not been able to see her face, and she refused to introduce herself; but eventually Ikki himself had asked them to leave, under the claim that this was to be settled between the three of them, behind closed doors. After interminable minutes waiting outside, they heard a violent bang, and for a moment the whole world seemed to gleam with purple light. Shiryu broke into the room to find the siblings lying unconscious on the floor, and every last trace of the woman vanished. Neither Amamiya could remember anything about her, except the glimpse they had gotten at her while the saints were still arriving at Shun's bedroom. They all agreed that she had done something to erase their memories.

He jumped out of bed. Shun was sound asleep already, but for him it was never that easy. He considered a walk, even a short ride; he considered not coming back. If he was lucky, he might get home in time to cook Li some dinner before she arrived from work; they could have a silent meal and go to bed, exhausted but happy, and sleep until late the next morning. He had understood one thing very clearly that evening: staying near her was like standing too close to a bonfire — deliciously warm at first, but unbearably hot in instants.

Is that her voice?

Ikki listened for a sob and heard another soon; so feminine a voice had to be hers. He walked out the door and stood motionless in the hallway, watching her door; soon he saw a human form straying in her bedroom, and the sound of her barely audible weeps. Suddenly she screamed something that he could not make out, causing him to run towards her door; but he arrested himself confused when from the doorway he saw no one inside but the girl herself, spinning around pathetically while crying copiously. Then she seemed to have spotted him, and stopped; he reached for the light switch, but she interrupted him by leaping forward and taking his hands, to utter in a desperate cry:

"Take me instead!"

He turned on the lights to see her shoot him a stunned look. Then she collapsed and melted down to her knees, convulsed by loud sobs, torso bent over legs and hands digging into hair as if in search of something. He squatted down and took her in his arms without words, stroking her violet strands while hearing her whisper, "Make it stop. Please, just make it stop."

And for the first time in his life, he understood that being Athena was as much of a trap as being a saint.

* * *

She clung to Ikki's neck when he lifted her in his arms to carry her to the bed. He laid her among the pillows and stepped back, waiting for her to say something. She sat up and with a gesture invited him to join her. Ikki sat on the bed, opposite to her, and smiled. 

"Calmer?"

She nodded.

"Do you want me to stay until you fall asleep, or would you rather I went away?"

"Stay," she whispered feebly. "Stay and talk to me."

"Do you want to tell me what happened?"

She shook her head. "I want you— I want you to tell me."

"What?"

"What happened to you."

This would be the first step towards redemption. She would listen. She would listen to their stories, to the tales she had always been to busy for, she would treasure them as gifts. She must learn exactly what her crimes had been.

"I don't understand."

"Tell me something horrible. About your past... about your childhood..."

He scrutinized her head to toes, as if measuring her strength.

"Are you sure you wanna listen to that? It seemed to me like you just had a nightmare or something."

But she nodded reassuringly.

"I don't think I'd know where to begin." He smiled vaguely. "There's just so much— the way we were brought here, the way those kids trained themselves exhausted everyday... how sometimes in the middle of your workout you'd hear someone throw up from sheer tiredness..." She cringed. "And the things that his men did to us... the things that they did to us when no one was looking..."

"What did they do to you?" she asked instinctively.

He paused to measure her again.

"They tortured us," Ikki blurted out suddenly. "Tatsumi tortured us. He'd take us down to the undergrounds... to this little room, I think it was kind of secret. And he'd tie us up and hang us upside down. Then he'd beat us with this—" His hands had balled into fists. "This rod, I don't know what it was made of. And you could feel the blood run down your back and soak your hair before puddling on the floor—"

"Stop," she interrupted him.

But Ikki had gone too far to stop. "The whole room smelled of blood. He used to say he'd stop if I cried. But I didn't. I'd rather—"

"Stop, I can't. I can't." The tears were streaming down her face with the realization that Ikki had nothing to offer but pain. No redeeming beauty, no glorious insight, just the cold and broken growl of massive pain.

"Ikki, I'm sorry," she began, feeling the salty warmth of her tears grow heavier on her face. "I'm so terribly sorry..." And before she realized it she was curled up in his arms again, sobbing louder than before, wailing excuses that justified nothing. "It's all my fault, I'm so sorry... if I could, I— I would never have had it this way... it will all— I will change it, I will— no one, no one should have— oh, those dear boys, those boys, ninety little boys, do you remember them, Ikki? They're all dead," her blood-shot eyes fixed on Ikki's shirt as she recalled her dreadful ghosts, "they're all dead now." He rocked her gently, one hand around her waist and the other on the nape of her neck. "But I didn't know, I swear, I didn't know— I didn't know they had to die for me... no one should ever die for me, not again, not you... you didn't choose this... you didn't want this... oh, Ikki, I'm so sorry..." talk substituted with bawling as her breath ran out.

"Look at me," he urged nervously, taking her chin in his right hand to make her look up at him. "Look at me, girl." She stopped sobbing and stared at him shyly from behind her bangs. He smiled. "I love you. Do you understand what that means? I love you so much sometimes I can't sit still." He secured an already clipped strand behind her ear, just for the sake of the gesture. "I'd do a lot more than just die for you. I would live for you."

She threw her arms around his neck and hid her face in his chest, tears soaking his shirt, and he wrapped her in his arms like a wounded little bird, lips pressed to her hair, hands traveling sadly up and down her side and around her waist. "There," he whispered softly in her ear, "there, you're safe now. Cry as much as you like, sweetheart. There, there. It's ok. It's ok to cry. I won't love you any less if you cry."

They stayed in each other's arms for the longest while. Her sobs grew quieter and finally ceased, but she sat motionless, adrift in his embrace. No ghosts could reach her here.

"You shouldn't have to fight anymore," she muttered after a very long silence. "I will make sure that you don't fight anymore."

He pulled away gently and stared at her. "Is that who you take us for? Is that who you take me for? You think any of us would leave you now? You think I would leave you to fight alone, just because there's nothing in it for me?"

Tenderness washed her body like a wave as she listened to the words of his wounded honor. And she understood that this was her cue.

"You're a kind man, Phoenix Ikki," she said, then took his face between her hands and pressed her lips to his.

* * *

Wow, this chapter took a while. Almost a week! I'm still online, as you can see, and I will be for another week or so, which means we'll have one or two chapters the next few days and then a longer interval. Which suits us just fine, actually, because after one or two more chapters (I haven't decided yet) I have a little surprise. ;) 

It's been taking me a little longer to answer reviews, but they will all be answered, as usual. After all, if you're so kind to take the time to drop me a line, why wouldn't I? See you all soon!


	7. A Bittersweet Goodbye

Disclaimer: Saint Seiya is the property of Masami Kurumada, Toei Productions (anime) and Shueisha.

**A Bittersweet Goodbye**

There was not much to pack. Aside from the clothes he had on, all he would take back home was a clean shirt, his spare underwear, and a toothbrush. He smiled — he would have forgotten this last item if Li had not reminded him. It was so funny — and comforting — to see anyone worry about something as mundane as a toothbrush.

The reason why he was pretending to still be busy with his few possessions was very clear to him, but he chose not to think about it. It was best not to recall the touch of her skin, the smell of her hair, or the— oh, there I go again. The taste of her kiss. There were no regrets; he had done the right thing. To break the kiss. To push her away and say, "Don't play games with me, girl." To stand up and walk out, slowly and deliberately, concealing his struggle against the desperate urge to go back and let himself be pitied, used, manipulated, just as long as he could have her in his arms. There were no regrets.

But then why was he waiting for her?

Probably because he knew she would come.

"Ikki?"

He did not turn.

She sighed. "Ikki, I don't know what to say."

"Then say nothing. I didn't ask you to."

"I _am _sorry."

"You know, you people seem to think that's some kind of magic word that's gonna fix everything, but, guess what? It changes nothing."

"I didn't mean to—"

"It doesn't matter whether you meant to or not. You did."

"I didn't realize—"

"Oh, come on," he laughed sarcastically. "You didn't realize it? You didn't realize what you were doing to me?"

"It just felt right!" she raised her shoulders defensively.

"That doesn't _make_ it right!" he raised his voice angrily. "How could you? Do you have any idea how long it's gonna take me to get that out of my head? How long it's gonna take me to convince that little voice in my head that you were just tired and sad and confused, that you were not—" His voice broke off and he let out a long sigh. "You know, just yesterday I was thinking about how being close to you is like being close to a fire. 'Cause at first it's warm and it feels nice, but after a while it just gets really hot, and you just wanna walk the hell away from there." He saw a tear run down her cheek. "Little did I know that the little princess was gonna pour a gallon of gas right into the fire, huh?" His laughter sounded painful even to him. "And now I'm burnt. Not rocket science, is it?"

"I really am sorry."

"Sorry is not enough right now."

She nodded. "I understand."

"No!" he objected angrily. "No, you don't get to be the understanding party here. You are the villain. You screwed up. You knew I was in love with you and you used me anyway. You're the bad guy, princess. There's no way around it."

"There's always a way," she whispered.

"No." He shook his head. "Some mistakes are fatal."

They exchanged tense glances, each silently straining to hold the other's stare, until she yielded with a sigh.

"What about your brother?"

"I'll come if he needs me."

"If you stayed— I promise to stay out of your way. We won't be in the same room together. You won't even see me."

But then what would be the point in staying?, he joked to himself.

"I have nothing to stay for."

"You have your brother, and your friends—", she hesitated. "And you have me."

"I have your compassion, Saori. And perhaps even your friendship." He spoke as if to a child. "But _you_? That, we both know I'll never have."

"Won't you stay?" she tried again, ignoring his remark.

"What would you do if you were me, Saori? Would you stay? Would you stick around to watch your true love find happiness in someone else's arms?"

She looked down and drew a circle on the floor with her foot. "If I could choose—"

"You'd still choose him," he cut her short. "But thanks for being willing to lie." After a pause, he resumed: "Now it's time for you to go to work, and for me to go some place where I can fall out of love with you."

She opposed him silently, by not moving. He scrutinized her carefully before asking:

"How long has it been?"

"What?" she asked, finally looking at him.

"Since you've hated yourself like that."

"Don't leave, Ikki." The words he had often heard her say sounded different, more truthful. "You're the only one who knows."

"Say goodbye, princess. Say goodbye and turn around, then I'll to my life and you'll to yours."

"Ikki," she sobbed.

"Goodbye, princess."

"Will I see you again?"

He sighed heavily. "Not if I can help it."

Ikki had never fought a battle as hard as the one he fought against himself when he walked away from Saori as she leaned against the doorframe crying, her desperate sobs cutting through his ears like razors. But somehow he ignored the burning drive to turn around and embrace her, and made his way towards the door without looking back. Seiya had just come in when he crossed the hall. He greeted Ikki with a smile and a short wave.

"Take care of the girl, Seiya," he said simply.

Pegasus's confusion soon seemed to give way to understanding, and the saint nodded. Ikki bowed, walked out of the manor, closed the huge door behind him, and burst into tears.

* * *

I got a review for "Of Gods and Ghosts" asking me if I intended to write more chapters. Well, of course! You thought that was the end of it? No way:) By the way, thank you, anonymous reviewers J and Lígia! (Who I hope are still there! ;)) Unfortunately I can't communicate with you any other way. Lígia, um dia ainda traduzo isto pro nosso português:)

But, as I was saying, do you guys like long fics? Because this is gonna take a while. :)


	8. Fortune's Fools

Disclaimer: Saint Seiya is the property of Masami Kurumada, Toei Productions (anime) and Shueisha.

**Fortune's Fools**

It was exactly one year since she had last been here. The oppressive grandeur of the white room did not exactly intimidate, but certainly bothered, her. She was only a guest here, although it was said to be her home.

There was no one to be seen. She wandered uncertainly for a second, then called, "Father?"

"I have been awaiting you, my daughter."

Zeus was fully armored, which made her shiver. But he could not assault her from her own dream... could he?

"I was waiting for your call."

The god smiled. "If you wanted, you would never have to wait for permission to enter again."

"I belong in Earth, father."

"You belong with us, Athena," he retorted, voice colored with frustration, "but you seem not to see that."

"Father, I—" "I know. You want to continue our last conversation." 

She nodded.

"Athena," he sighed, "you sacrifice too much for mortals."

Saori looked away. The truth was that, this time, there was only one mortal she wanted to sacrifice for.

"I told you that there was one way you could find love without giving up your beloved mankind."

"Yes."

"Sit down. Let us talk in no hurry."

She obeyed, taking a seat that she did not remember having seen.

"Now," he began, shifting in his throne. "Do you understand what would happen if you were to pursue love by other means?"

"I would be breaking Athena's—"

"'_My_ promise', you mean."

Saori blushed.

"That has always been your problem, my dear," he said softly. "You have always been reluctant to extinguish the humanity in your reincarnations. If it were not for your obsession with mortals, you would not be so vulnerable to their appetites."

"I am not the only deity vulnerable to their appetites, my dear father," she remarked with a hint of irony.

Zeus smirked. "Now, as to your question."

"Please."

"You spoke of your promise to me."

"I promised to stay a maiden through all of my reincarnations, in exchange for power over mankind."

"Yes. A rather unfavorable bargain, if you asked me."

She smiled.

"But you took it, because in the time of myth, when we needed not the odious bodies of mortals, you had no interest in what you gave up."

"Yes."

"And do you know why not?"

She shook her head.

"Athena, do you recall the story of your birth?"

"I sprung out of Zeus's— of your head, father."

"And why was that?"

"Well—" she choked a giggle. "You had swallowed my mother. Metis, goddess of Wisdom."

"And why did I swallow your adorable mother?"

"For fear that she would bear a son mightier than you."

"Very good. Now, tell me, my dear, what do you think happened to Metis?"

Saori frowned. She had never thought of that. "I don't know."

"Do you think she died?"

"Perhaps."

He laughed. "Do you think the immortal goddess of Wisdom would die just because I swallowed her?"

Saori smiled. When exactly had such a bizarre world become natural to her?

"I see you understand," he said, mistaking her smile for one of insight. "Now, deprived of a body, what do you think your dear mother did?"

"She must have found a new one."

"And whose could it be?" he asked smiling.

She suddenly understood. "Mine. She lives in me."

He nodded. "You have her wisdom, my daughter. Yes, Metis has lived in you, through all of your reincarnations. And the presence of Metis in you is an impending danger to your father. After all, it was prophesied that she would have a son so powerful that he would overthrow me."

"And you fear that, if I bore a son, he would fulfill the prophecy."

"Exactly."

They paused to stare at each other.

"I still don't understand," she finally said, breaking the silence.

"I have not yet explained," he grinned. "Athena, you have suffered."

She wondered how he expected her to react to such an astonishing revelation.

"I do not like the thought of seeing my favorite daughter in pain. Hence I shall offer you a deal. A deal that suits us both."

"I am listening, father."

He sustained her gaze silently for a moment, and suddenly proposed:

"Have a daughter."

She jumped in her seat. "What?"

"Athena, you reincarnate every 250 years to fight evil. Every 250 years, a mortal girl is chosen as your avatar."

Saori nodded.

"But there is one way to shorten the interval. No bond is stronger than that between mother and child. And you may profit from that bond, Athena, to leave the body you now dwell in and take that of its child. You would reincarnate in your own daughter."

"How could I reincarnate without— well, without dying?"

"With the help of your father, of course," he grinned.

"Where as I do not doubt your benevolence towards me, I don't assume such kindness to be entirely gratuitous."

"You are once more correct. If you reincarnate by such means, Metis will not be able to follow. And I will be free of her curse."

"As will I of yours."

He nodded.

"So all I have to do is to bear a girl to be the next Athena, and everything will be settled?"

"Yes. I will not enforce any punishment upon you for your macula. In return, you will leave your current avatar and thereby kill Metis, who will not have my support to follow for another body, and will be left to stray."

"And will the girl be free to love as well?"

"Of course. I have no interest in what happens after Metis is gone."

"I see. But if I bear a boy?"

His eyes narrowed. "I'm afraid you will not. If the child is a boy, you will both be killed before his birth."

She acquiesced.

"Choose wisely, Athena. Choose no less than true love."

* * *

"I'm thinking of dying my hair blond."

"Don't even think about that," he said calmly, without looking away from his reading.

"Don't you think I'd look good as a blonde?"

"I am so not having this conversation."

She grumbled, getting up.

"What's for dinner?", she asked.

"I thought you were cooking."

"I'm not cooking. It's your turn to cook."

"I don't know anything about turns. You cook, I eat. That's the only turn-taking we have in this house."

"I was working all day. What were _you_ doing?"

"I was working too."

"Oh, of course. And ESPN is gonna send you a paycheck."

"I was training."

"You weren't training! You were sitting on your ass all day!"

"You were so much more tolerable when you worked nights."

"Get your ass in the kitchen, I am _not _making dinner."

"Can't you order something?"

She shot him a murderous look. "I'm not gonna order so you don't have to cook."

"I'm busy."

"With a newspaper you've been pretending to read for two hours? I don't think that counts as busy."

"I don't expect _you_ to value my intellectual engagement."

"Reading the sports section at 0,3 page per hour does not qualify as intellectual engagement."

He raised an eyebrow.

"I'm gonna go have a shower now, and when I come back, you will be making dinner."

"Sure," he snorted. "And, since you're dreaming, would you like a pony?"

She disappeared into the bathroom, allowing him the low chuckle he had been straining to silence. Suddenly her voice emerged. 

"Ikki, can you come here for a second?"

"What is it?", he asked, looking over his newspaper.

"Just come in here, I want you to help me with something."

He stood up resignedly and went into the bathroom. Li was standing beside the toilet, hands on her hips.

"What's up?"

She pointed at the toilet seat. It was up.

"Did you honestly drag me from my chair to come here look at the toilet seat?"

Gaze locked in his, she silently put the seat down. "Not that hard, uh?"

"You're the one who thinks it's so hard that you can't do it yourself."

"Are you telling me that I have to put it back down?"

"Well, I put it up, don't I? It's pretty simple, really: I need it up, you need it down. You don't see me complaining about you leaving it down."

"It's _supposed_ to stay down."

"Says who? You think you have more right to a well-positioned toilet seat than I do?"

"Ikki!" she yelped, desperately fighting back a laugh.

"You're such a nag," he grumped, turning his back on her.

She followed him into the living room.

"This is unbelievable! You're not honestly gonna deprive me of a decent-looking bathroom." 

"How could it be even remotely decent-looking when your underwear's hanging all over the place?"

"For a day a month at most!"

"Is that all? Because you seem to be having PMS every single day!"

"You bastard!" She threw herself on his lap, showering him with frail slaps which he avoided with raised hands, laughing. When she finally tired, laughter triumphing over fury, he pulled her closer, and she shifted, cuddling against him. They held each other for the longest while, his mind completely empty as he felt her tranquil breath press rhythmically on his chest. Suddenly she burst into laughter.

"What is it?" he asked, chuckling.

"Can you believe the two of us? We've been married one week and already we're driving each other insane."

Ikki smiled.

* * *

I just wanna say that, if anyone was very disappointed or angry with the end of this chapter... YAY:) 


	9. Lies Told A Thousand Times

Disclaimer: Saint Seiya is the property of Masami Kurumada, Toei Productions (anime) and Shueisha.

**Lies Told A Thousand Times**

The nineteen-year-old looked at herself in the mirror. Pale skin, dark blue eyes, violet hair; the ensemble of exotic colors on her face was perfectly complemented by the sobriety of black. Although the color suited her beautifully, she hardly ever wore it; she had always preferred white. She examined herself head to toe, and adjusted her wide belt over the wool sweater dress, turning halfway around to see her back.

But what was the point in getting dressed, now that—?

Legs in opaque black tights stepped into black round-toe pumps. It was always best to be well-dressed. It was always best to give people the right impression, even if it was actually the wrong impression; an impression of serenity, refinement, propriety — she had been brought up to do so, and, eleven years after losing the foster grandfather who had been her only family, she still always did. Always; no matter what the circumstances were. Heels clicking on the wooden floor, she crossed her room to enter the bathroom, where she used cosmetics to conceal the dark circles under her eyes and softly color her cheeks in a peachy hue of pink. All so pointless. For a moment her fortitude flickered and she let her head droop very low between her shoulders, arms locked against the sink, exhaustion pressing on her back like a heavy load.

No one had seen her without make-up as often as he had.

She took a deep breath and finished her make-up by applying mascara to long lashes. Her features were harmonic and she would always be pretty, but the colors of her face had been drained by the "recent events" — that was the name she had given to the reality she chose not to think about.

He had been such a huge part of her life, and now she strained not to think of him.

The colors in her life had also been drained. So often as a child she had felt like her days were a mere prologue to a life yet to come; she felt like she was endlessly rehearsing a play in which she knew she would ultimately have to improvise. Eventually the play had really come; few things, after all, are more quintessentially dramatic than fighting an endless string of enemies as the reincarnation of Athena, all for love of mankind. But now she felt to be an epilogue. The curtains were down, and this was what was left. This was the person she had become: a young woman in her late teens, clothes uninspiredly elegant, complexion too pale, gestures too mechanical. It all felt awkward, out of place, as if it belonged to someone else. This house. She felt as if she were house-sitting for a friend whose undated return she was constantly half-expecting, so that she could go back to her own home, her own life. And, in a sense, she knew that this was what her life had come to: she was house-sitting for her former self.

And now all the things she had long postponed were hopelessly out of reach.

She went back into her bedroom. A black overcoat lay on the bed, but, anxious though she was, it was pointless to put it on now. It was not time yet. And besides, she had to wait for her escort.

Six years. It all had begun six years ago. Or had it? Perhaps it had all begun the day a hundred boys had come to live in her huge house. Or, most likely, it had begun in times now immemorial, in previous lives, in the time of myth. So much had begun in the time of myth.

She watched the ballerina on the top of her music box spin for almost one whole minute before opening it to reveal an assortment of indecently expensive jewelry. She reached instinctively for a pair of easy-chic small diamond earrings, but stopped the gesture short. Diamonds were unsuitable for the occasion. Only pearls are acceptable in funerals.

* * *

"Ms. Kido?"

She shivered and turned abruptly, but it was just Tatsumi.

"Yes, Tatsumi?"

"The car is ready, miss."

She sighed, but remained seated, left foot tapping on the floor. "I'm sure he'll be right here."

"Yes, miss."

"Do you have a suit ready like I asked?"

"I certainly do. It's in the first guest room."

"Maybe he can wear just the blazer. To save time."

"That's a good idea, miss."

"Why don't you bring it down? Maybe he can just change in the bathroom."

"Certainly, miss."

"There's always a chance he listened and will be wearing a suit, of course, but I'd rather be ready. Is traffic lousy?"

"I'm not sure, miss. Should I go check?"

"It's ok. I'm sure it is. He's probably coming from the airport, traffic's always lousy at that part of the city. Is there an easy snack ready in the kitchen? He might be hungry."

"I'll make sure there's something."

"Stock up the limo as well, so we can have something on the road. In case there's no time, that is. The driver's ready?"

"He is."

"We have a few more minutes, don't we? He must be just around the block."

"We have fifteen minutes before we absolutely have to leave."

"That's just fine. He can't be more than a few more minutes. He wouldn't possibly come late."

Tatsumi bit his lips. Saori knew what had crossed his mind — he already _was_ late. But that was one more thing she chose not to think about. She stood up and headed for the piano, hoping to kill time. Tatsumi made a motion to leave.

"Tatsumi?"

"Ms. Kido?"

"He _is_ coming, isn't he?"

He gave her one of his awkward, rare smiles. "He would not let you down, miss."

She nodded, thankful that he was willing to lie.

* * *

Her cell phone rang louder and louder as Tatsumi approached her with it. She took a deep breath; this was it. He was calling to say he was not coming. He too disapproved of this, disapproved of her. She would have to go alone, defeated.

"Hello?"

"Saori? It's Hyoga."

"Oh, hi, Hyoga." Was that relief or disappointment in her voice?

"So, we're all here. You're on your way?"

"Well..." she hesitated. Was she a fool to be waiting? "I'm actually still waiting for him."

"Oh," he said, unemotionally. "Of course."

"I'm giving it five more minutes. I'm sure he's just stuck in traffic, there's no way he'd— There's no one else there yet, is there?"

"No, just us."

"Alright. Well, I'm sorry. I'll be right there, I promise."

"It's fine."

"You're gonna— you're coming over to— you'll pick up—"

"I will," he reassured her.

"I just don't think I could."

"Don't worry."

"Has Shiryu brought Shunrei?"

"He has."

"That's nice. Is she—"

Tatsumi's voice interrupted her. "Ms. Kido?"

"Hyoga, Tatsumi wants me. I'll see you in a minute."

"Alright," he replied almost cheerfully. "See you soon."

"Later," she mumbled, putting down the phone. "Tatsumi?"

"He's here, miss."

Her heart raced impossibly in her chest, and she ran down the stairs without looking back at her butler, who probably had a disapproving look on his face. But she had no interest in him; not usually and certainly not when, standing in the hall a few feet away, was the only person she wanted to see.

"I'm sorry I'm late," he whispered in her ear, circling her waist as she leapt forward and hid her face in the curve of his neck.

"It's ok," she muffled, throat sore with the sobs she was keeping back. "You're here now."

* * *

Hello, hello! Well, I was away for a while, like I'd told you I would, but I'm back. Six years have passed, and Part II of _Star-crossed_ has officially begun. (Remember I mentioned I had a surprise? This is it. I hope you're surprised. :))

Who died? Who was Saori waiting for? What happened in the last six years? Place your bets ladies and gentlemen, place your bets! ;) Answers will be out very soon... and remember: the house always wins:)

Thank you all for reading, and extra thanks for those reviewing.


	10. The Aftermath

Disclaimer: Saint Seiya is the property of Masami Kurumada, Toei Productions (anime) and Shueisha.

**The Aftermath**

The thought of being back in Japan was far from exhilarating. He had been living in America for over a year now. Although the feeling of belonging somewhere was one he had yet to experience, he had never felt as comfortable any place else. Maybe it was the spaciousness of everything, maybe it was the Californian weather, maybe it was that people's reserve there — as opposed to in Japan — seemed to stem more from personal convictions than from social conventions. Or maybe it was just that in San Diego he was incalculably far from it all.

He pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and lit one. Six years was a long time. In six years, he had fought a war against the Sanctuary, then a war against Poseidon, then a war against Hades, then a war against the Olympic Gods, then a war against resurrected Titans — not to mention several occasional confrontations against the likes of Abel or Eris, and other equally insane nemeses. How very ironic that, back in his new home, he had only grown old enough to drink a couple of months ago.

Six years was definitely a very long time.

Since there had been peace, he had not seen any of them, except of course his brother. He sometimes meant to: he once bought a ticket to Japan, only to return it a week later; and when Shiryu got married, he called to congratulate him and actually cried on the phone, repeatedly stating that he was incredibly sorry, but he just could not go back. They all had moved on, in one way or another, but the difference with Ikki was that he had begun to drift away much earlier. He had begun that night, millennia ago, when a scared little girl with tears streaming down her face had mistaken gratitude for love, and kissed him.

Naturally, she was the person he had not seen in the longest time. In fact, since the end of the Holy War against Hades, he had not spoken to her, and had hardly even seen her at all. He developed the habit of making timely and brief appearances, saving the day and then leaving unnoticed, before she could try to thank him. In the past four years, Saori Kido had slowly faded into just a memory — occasionally a face on the television —, and he liked it this way.

In the beginning he had avoided the saints and the mansion because they would lead to her. Now, however, he just did it out of custom. The kiss, the fight, the goodbye, those had all been too long ago to matter. He was not running from her anymore, but he was still running: it made him dizzy to stay still. When the wars were finally over, Shiryu got married, Seiya moved to Greece to be with his sister, Hyoga started a school in his village, Shun went to university. They all had found something. Ikki had found nothing but a void, a void that he feared would suck him in the wink of an eye if he ever let his guard down. So he just stayed away from the eye of the hurricane, even if it meant not seeing the people who, at the end of the day, were still the most important in his life. He never realized that, in his urge to escape that void, he had been drawn into another.

When he heard the sound of Saori's voice on the phone, two days before, he thought he was going to be sick. For a split second, he was fifteen years old and madly in love with her again. But reality knocked soon enough, and he felt a tremendous, not entirely justified hostility towards the incarnated goddess, and not because she was the messenger: he already knew. He had felt it, when it happened. He had been waiting to see what she would do. She told him they were having a ceremony, a catholic funeral. He told her to go to hell. Ikki could not stand the idea of his body being slowly lowered to the ground, mourners parading behind his coffin, grieving him by the book. He was a saint and he should be buried like a saint, at the site of his death, nothing but a cross with his name carved on it to mark the grave. Saori argued that he had wanted it to be that way — Ikki thought that was crap. She could have her circus if she wanted, though, he said, as long as she did not count on him. She said she was sorry, and hung up.

He had told her, and even told himself, that he would not come; however, here he was, standing a few yards away, far enough that the preacher's words were lost in the sound of the leaves being shaken by the cold wind. The winter in Japan was awfully cold that year, but he did not need a jacket: saints were never cold. Ikki sighed. It was hateful to see their pasts stepped over like that; to see them all stand there and pretend that the deceased had lived an ordinary life, that they were ordinary people, that theirs was ordinary grief. He did not understand how the others could have approved of this. But still, here he was.

After all, this was his brother's funeral.

* * *

"Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil..."

The preacher's words made her think of Hades, and she shivered. Maybe this was wrong after all. To give Shun a Christian funeral, to have him buried, gravestone, epitaph, "the whole nine yards" — Ikki's words hammered against her head like drums. A circus, he had called it. Even Seiya's voice when she reached him in Greece sounded skeptical. "Are you sure that's appropriate, Saori?"

She could not be sure, but she had tried her best. Hyoga, a catholic, who had been Shun's best friend longer than anyone could remember, told her that the young man had not only manifested a growing interest in his religion, but had, in one rather morbid conversation, explicitly conveyed his desire to be buried as a Christian. What could she do, other than abide? And besides, Shun had all sorts of friends now — friends from school, friends from his life after Hades. Did those people not deserve a goodbye too? In the end, she and Hyoga had persuaded everyone, even a reluctant Seiya, that it was the best thing to do; everyone except Ikki.

She had not heard his voice in four years when the Foundation intelligence tracked him down in California. When he answered the phone, she thought she was going to pass out. His voice was deeper, huskier. He did not sound happy to hear from her at all, and she had a feeling that a part of it had nothing to do with his loss. When she mentioned the Christian funeral, he yelled at her and told her he was no going to watch his brother's death be made a spectacle of. She felt horrible. There was no one's approval she wanted as much as Ikki's. Not only had he not granted it — and when had he ever? —, but he had made it very clear that he was going to exclude himself entirely. Saori, who was probably responsible for his prolonged absence, would now be to blame for his never saying goodbye.

Ikki said he wanted Shun to be buried like a saint. Saori could understand that, but the truth was that he had not died like a saint. The saint of Andromeda had died in an appalling car crash, driving to a friend's beach house in a weekend. It was so surreal: five years of risking his life against odds so slim that they could hardly be calculated, and after only one year of the long-awaited peace, he died. The Fates must be laughing now, she thought, and this time the joke is on us. She wiped off a stubborn tear with the back of her hand, and Seiya squeezed her hand harder. When she looked at him, he smiled. She smiled back.

He was so solid.

She was still not sure when to let him know. It has been her secret so long that she could hardly believe it anymore, and the memory of those visits to Zeus's palace struck her very much as her own fancy.

However, her secret was real. She had a choice. But it was a choice she was reluctant to make. First there was the war, the endless war. She could not give it up then, when there was so much at stake. If she died in the hands of Zeus, Athena would not return until nearly 250 years later; if she succeeded, Athena would again become a little girl, incapable of leading the saints in the wars against her fellow gods. In any case, the Earth would be left vulnerable, and that was not a price anyone could afford.

Once, before the battle against Arthemis broke, they had had a quiet moment alone, and she had asked, without prologue, "Seiya, would you wait for me?" She could vividly remember how his bewilderment quickly turned into understanding, how he had stared at her affectionately for second on end, and how grave he had sounded when he finally answered, "I already am." So she waited herself. But, like a bird caged so long that it can no longer fly, she seemed to have forgotten the taste of freedom. When the war was finally over, she still could not bring herself to tell him. She would always put it off a little longer, waiting for the perfect moment, for the perfect words. How do you tell the love of your life that the wait is finally over? How do you finally step into the role you have been rehearsing for a lifetime? Saori did not know. The night when Seiya came to break the news of his departure to Greece, where Seika and the Sanctuary awaited him, she was almost relieved. She would have time to prepare herself.

She had been preparing for almost a year.

The young lady looked around. Shun's friends were numerous, but the preacher's words sounded against a background of silence that made her feel lonely. There stood Hyoga, tears running down his face as he held flowers that were to be deposited on the grave; Shiryu, dressed in a very elegant suit, his forever-closed eyes strangely revealing of his grief, the young Shunrei wrapped around his arm. Then she noticed someone standing in the distance, a tall dark man in aviator sunglasses. Dressed in a white button shirt and jeans, unshaved, eyes hid behind the black lenses, he was not immediately resembling of anyone she had ever met. But somehow she knew instantly.

* * *

"Ikki?"

"Athena."

The saint noticed that she shook violently when he said the name. He was glad.

"I didn't think you were coming."

"It's my brother's funeral. Whether or not you've made a spectacle of it."

"Ikki, I wouldn't have done this if—"

"Oh, don't justify yourself to _me_," he scorned. "I don't suppose I have a right to anything here. I'm just the bastard who left, aren't I?"

"Don't say that. You were the person he loved the most."

"Only for lack of option."

Ikki instantly regretted saying that. Not because it was not true, but because it was.

"Shun never resented you for going away, Ikki."

He did not answer.

"How long have you been in Tokyo?"

"Long enough."

"We're headed for the mansion now."

"How delightful," he snorted.

The thought of going back to the mansion brought him the memory of his last visit to it. _Say goodbye, princess. Say goodbye and turn around._ She had cried, that afternoon; cried that she must to let him go. Saori took a deep breath, and closed her eyes slowly. He could see that her face had been washed with tears. Opening them again, she said, "I wish you'd come with us. Hyoga's going to go through Shun's room and gather his things to decide what's to be done of them. Now that you're here, I guess you'll probably want to assist him with that."

"So I'm being offered a position as Hyoga's assistant? No, thanks. Very flattered," he raised his hand, sarcastically apologetical, "but no, thanks."

"Give yourself time to grieve, Ikki." She was breathing heavily.

"I don't have time. None of us does. All I can do is keep my chin up and be strong."

"You don't have to be strong. Not right now."

"Only the strong survive."

"We're human. We don't live by the laws of beasts."

He made a dramatic pause, and answered, "Maybe not you."

"Ikki..." she whispered. Suddenly, she circled his neck with her arms and pressed her body against his. Caught by surprise, he felt his hands trip to her waist reflexively. She was... soft. Soft like no woman he had ever touched. She was a woman now; every last trace of the girl was gone. "I've missed you, Ikki."

He pushed her, somewhat abruptly, and looked away. Hyoga was speaking to the priest. A few feet away, Seiya talked to Shiryu and Shunrei, glance occasionally drifting towards them. Saori had probably told him that she wanted privacy.

"Ikki?" He fixed his gaze at her. Her big blue eyes addressed his directly, and she had a look of helplessness in her face. "Will you come?"

* * *

Hello, everyone. :) I'm sorry it took me so long to write this one; I've been working like crazy lately and I haven't had much time for fanfiction. But, well, here it is, and hopefully chapter 11 will be delivered in much less time...

So, you guys thought I was gonna kill Seiya, huh:) Not at all. What fun would it be without the first love lurking around, casting the shadow of doubt:) I feel sorry for Shun, though. I do terrible things to him in order to get Ikki to come round...

Anonymous reviewers Mariana (you from Brazil:)) and Fire-chan, thank you ever so much for taking the time to give me some feedback! Fire-chan, I loved getting your reviews, and it killed me that I couldn't answer them. At least I can thank you — if you're still there, that is. :)

Well, enough said. Thanks for reading, don't go away!


	11. Sound And Fury

Disclaimer: Saint Seiya is the property of Masami Kurumada, Toei Productions (anime) and Shueisha.

**Sound And Fury**

"Would anyone like any more tea?"

Saori shook her head no without looking up, and Shunrei took the empty teacups away into the kitchen. They had servants for that in this house, of course, but Shunrei would just not give up her humble country girl manners... and Saori admired her for that.

"How are you, Athena?"

She turned her face to Shiryu. He was the first to ask the question; up to then, everyone, herself included, had been speaking strictly of amenities and practicalities, of things that must or should be done, and turning a blind eye to the pain. Seeing to it that everyone was comfortably settled for the night, making and serving tea. Seiya had mumbled an excuse to go off to the yards, Shiryu and Shunrei had sat with her in the living room, and Hyoga and Ikki were upstairs going through the belongings of the deceased.

And here was Shiryu, asking her to speak of the unspeakable.

"I'm sad, very sad, obviously, and a little stunned, I think. But life has taught us so much about loss, especially sudden loss..." She gazed discreetly at the young man's closed eyes. "I have no claim to despair. We will stand strong, all of us, as he would have."

"We will," he nodded. "But that does not mean we do not hurt."

"No. It does not."

She sighed heavily. How was it possible that having five guests in the house did not make up for one person's absence? The hallways looked empty, the rooms sounded silent. It seemed that someone had arranged for the birds not to sing. To die in a car accident — a saint! The "ordinary life" he had spent years longing for had finally come... and with it, an ordinary death. Such irony.

One brother gone, another come, and now _he_ was here. Sneering at her attempts at conversation. Avoiding her gaze. Drowning her in an overflow of angst, resent, and, most hurtful of all, contempt. He had said hardly anything to anyone, and addressed her directly only once, to ask about the furniture in his brother's room; shortly after they arrived he went up to dig into Shun's past. Hyoga quickly followed, perhaps anxious about what Ikki's ever-unpredictable responses might be this time. She did not dare go upstairs, did not dare disturb the mourners; so as memories paraded before her watering eyes she waited, as they all did — for lunch to be ready, for something to happen, for someone to tell them it was not true.

When Seiya came into the room, she stumbled up and threw her helpless self into his open arms. Giving up any hope of propriety, she nuzzled her head against his chest and gladly accepted his strokes on her back; he smelled of sun and of the open grounds, and to Saori it seemed as if he was a spring breeze blowing into Hades.

"Hey, how are you holding up?"

"I'm ok," she said feebly, as he ran one hand up her back to play with her hair.

"Are they still upstairs?"

"Yeh."

"Do you want me to go up and check on them?"

"No, it's ok." And, knowing by 'them' he had meant 'him', she added, "Hyoga's up there."

By this time Shunrei had come back from the kitchen and taken her seat beside Shyriu, cuddling against him discreetly; Saori envied her immensely as Seiya pulled away gently and sat himself in the vacant space beside the two, leaving her to her regal armchair, as massive as it was lonely.

The four had been talking intermittently for some time when they heard Ikki's steps drumming on the stairs, so loud that they muffled the sound of Hyoga's. Ikki seemed to be making his way to the door, and although everyone's eyes were following him, he looked at no one; no one except Saori, who instinctively and almost involuntarily withdrew the hand that had been nested in Seiya's on the arm of the couch. Everyone noticed this, and she thought she saw a flash of wicked satisfaction pass through Ikki's face. She almost cried.

"I'll be back for the things. Not sure when. Maybe later, maybe tomorrow."

"I'll be here," she said, standing up.

"Too bad."

Saori shifted nervously, and Seiya hissed, "Watch it, Ikki."

"Or what?" Ikki turned to him with a curious, amused expression on his face.

Seiya made a motion to stand up, but Shyriu stopped him. For a moment everyone just stood and stared, as the two saints eyed each other dauntingly across the room. The very air between seemed strained, and Saori feared it might spring. She was thinking about stepping into the space between them when Ikki turned away and went into the kitchen, looking straight ahead as if no one was there. As she followed him she heard Seiya draw a heavy breath.

Ikki had opened a kitchen cabinet and was unceremoniously going through its contents.

"I understand what you must be feeling, Ikki," she started, and before she had finished pronouncing the words she regretted them bitterly. But he didn't even take the trouble to snap at her; he just continued to peruse the goods, and at last retrieved something.

"What is that?"

Again, he said nothing. When he turned to the sink for a glass, she saw a bottle of liquor. Then she noticed a cylindrical object between two of his fingers.

"Are you drinking? And is that a cigarrette?"

Still no answer. She heard the click of a lighter, and before she could stop him he was blowing out a puff of smoke. The truth suddenly came to her that she had absolutely no idea what sort of man he had become.

"What happened to you, Ikki?"

"Well, if I remember correctly, my brother died and you had a circus bury him." He turned to glare at her. "But then my memory is so selective."

"I meant before, Ikki. I meant in the last six years. What happened? You drink now? What have you done, where have you been?"

"What the hell does it matter where have I been? The only thing that matters is that I wasn't here! I wasn't here, Saori, I was fucking away, and I saw my brother eight times in six years, did you know that? Eight times! And now he died in a freaking car accident, and where the fuck was I, Saori? Where the fuck were you?"

"Ikki, no one could have— it was the will of the gods."

"What gods? _You_?" he yelled, sending his glass flying across the kitchen to explode spectacularly against the opposite wall. She suddenly felt dizzy, and had to grab a chair to keep her balance; in a split second entered Seiya, followed closely by Hyoga and Shyriu. "What's going on here?" 

Seiya's eyes wandered from Ikki to herself, still leaning on the chair to compensate for her weak knees. The vision stunned him.

"It's nothing, Seiya, please—"

"What did you do? What did you do to her?" he grunted, hands drawn to Ikki's collar like iron to a magnet.

"Saori," Ikki calmly articulated, in spite of Seiya's grip pulling on his shirt, "do call off your attack bitch."

* * *

Ah-hah! Didn't think I'd come back, did you:) Well, I have, and let me tell you, it was the reviews I got that made me persist. Thanks a lot, everyone who wrote to me and reviewed the story since I last updated it. That was some real encouragement.

Little disclaimer: "Call off your attack bitch" is a brilliant sentence I borrowed from a brilliant fic: Russian Roulette, by Soz, most definitely the best Harry Potter fanfiction of all time. Don't get too attached, though: it's been a few years, and she's never finished it. I almost cried when I got to the last page written, I hadn't been warned... sniff sniff.

Well, this chapter is mostly a bridge to the next one, which will be coming up any time. Tension's building... will Ikki get punched so hard he'll have to stay in the mansion to recover:))) Stay tuned, folks. :)


	12. Shattered Glass And Broken Hearts

Disclaimer: Saint Seiya is the property of Masami Kurumada, Toei Productions (anime) and Shueisha.

**Shattered Glass And Broken Hearts**

Ikki felt finger by finger quite distinctly when Seiya's knuckles found his cheekbone. It was so very like him to pull a knight in shining armor, come to defend his damsel in distress. Some damsel she was. Ikki had to admit it had been a decent blow, though. Perfectly aimed at the exact spot where it would hurt the most. Built with strength enough that it made him tumble on the floor. Angled so that his teeth would cut through his mouth and redden with the lick of blood that now ran inside it. That brat of a kid was getting better all the time. Lying on the floor, Ikki smirked.

It had felt so good to have his body ache and not his soul.

There was some commotion around them. Shiryu grabbed Seiya by the arms and Saori stood utterly confused halfway between them, not knowing who to attend to first. That bastard Hyoga withdrew and watched from a distance, probably with a cynical smile of satisfaction on his face. Shunrei kneeled by Ikki and asked gently if he was alright. Touched, he smiled kindly, and stood up to assure her that he was fine. Seiya glared at him as if he was trying to remember why bare-handed homicide was unadvisable. Ikki's sole response was to raise an eyebrow.

"This isn't over yet," barked Seiya, as Shiryu led him out of the kitchen.

"Any time, Pegasus. Any time."

Seiya stirred trying to free himself, but Shiryu was firm and took him away. Hyoga and Shunrei followed, and he was left alone again with Saori. He covered his mouth with his hand and ran his tongue over his teeth; they tasted bloody, but not so much that he should worry. He found a napkin and spit it red. The girl watched.

"You shouldn't have said that," she mumbled sheepishly.

He made no answer except to dig into his pocket for another cigarette, which he made a point to finish before exiting the house.

* * *

It took her every last drop of persistence to drag herself up the staircase, knowing exactly what expected her upstairs. Shunrei and Shiryu were whispering to each other in the living room, and she could hear a residue of their low voices. Ikki had come back after little more than a couple of hours, and Seiya had taken his cue to go have dinner with Miho and the children at the orphanage. When Hyoga said there was a lot more to be done than anyone could get through in one afternoon, Ikki retorted he would take it from there. Shun's things had been gradually scattered about the house along the years he had lived with her: there were his books in the library, his videos in the TV room, his clothes in the laundry, his letters in the mailbox. She had never realized.

Hyoga had filled a box with small items from his desk and closet, the miniature samurai statues he collected, postcards from friends in Europe, aromatic candles, his notebooks from school, office supplies. She remembered how she would sometimes go into his room for a pen and find him reading on his bed, knees pulled up, shoulders against the headboard, and there was always a smile, a kind word for her. Sometimes he lay his book on his chest as an invitation, and then she would sit on the edge of the bed and they would talk about everything, or nothing, about anything at all. Her throat felt painfully swollen.

He was staring out the window when she entered the room. She paused in hesitation and wondered if this was really the moment to disturb him. But he turned around and looked at her.

"What are you doing here?"

"I just came to see if you need something."

"I need nothing from you except distance."

She felt her throat swell so hard she could barely breathe.

"I can show you where the rest of his things are. There are books up in the library and—"

"Show them to Hyoga."

"Don't you want to—"

"Not with you."

A lonely tear rolled down her flushed cheek. He spotted it, a disgusted look in his eyes.

"Don't be pathetic, Athena."

She closed her eyes hard, but could not stop other tears from following.

"I don't understand," she muttered, "why you're so angry at me. I'm really just trying to help."

He narrowed his eyes and stepped forward threateningly.

"You're trying to help? You think maybe you should help now? Now's the time you want to help?"

She stared at him silently. He was grinding his teeth and that could not be good.

"Let's see. What can you do to help, huh? How could you possibly make yourself useful? You're generally useless, of course, but is there any specific ability that we could benefit from here? Oh, I don't know. Hey, didn't you show us this really cool trick once when you resurrected people?"

"_What_?" she shouted, stunned.

"What do you mean 'what'? Are you a freaking goddess or not? You didn't even try to save him! You just stood there and watched him die! Hyoga told me how he was rotting in the hospital for an entire night before he died."

"Hyoga told you what?" She was so confused now it was giving her a headache. What had she missed? What could Hyoga have told Ikki? What had she not tried? "I have no idea what—"

"You gave your blood for those stupid gold saints, but you didn't lift a finger for my brother!" he yelled, louder than ever, and turned around to the window again, panting with anger.

Ah, she thought. _That. _She should have guessed it might come up. Taking a step forward, Saori leaned one hand on his shoulder: "Ikki—"

"Don't touch me!" he yelled again, flinching like she had burned him.

"Ikki, there was nothing I could have done! It was completely different with the gold saints, you know I can't just—"

"Don't bullshit me. I've always known what kind of heartless bitch you are, Athena—"

"What?!"

"I just didn't realize you'd be so quick to dispense with him. But then he must have such a useless burden to you, wasn't he?"

"What on earth could you mean by that?"

"Come on, girl," he said, his voice dripping with contempt and sarcasm. "We all know things would have gone a lot differently if there was still a sacred war for him to fight in your name."

She felt so disgusted that she flew down the hall to be sick in her bathroom.

* * *

Why on earth he was still in this house was beyond him. Ikki poured himself another shot of scotch (one reason might be, he thought to himself, that his hostess kept some very decent liquor) and laid the bottle back on the coffee table, resting his feet on it as well. It would be so easy for him to just leave and let them take care of it. Hyoga had, for the most part, so why not let him go on? Take the next plane home, where he belonged, and leave the ghosts behind. But he had tried that before, and the ghosts always followed.

All his brother's life he had been absent. It was funny how it all seemed so pointless now, the way he had withdrawn from contact with Shun, the way he had hid like a little boy, the way he had mistaken misanthropy for independence. Oh, the wasted time. Such high walls, he had built around himself, hiding from a monster that wound up locked inside. When Esmeralda died, his chest had been filled with so much grief that he feared there would be no more room for air; so, in an instinctive act of self-preservation, he did the only thing that seemed reasonable to his unreasonable heart: to shut out everyone who might ever steal his breath again. He could not lose what he thought he did not have. It was only now, when all he had were his own empty hands and memories that were but glimpses at what his life could have been, that he realized he had only duplicated the pain. All his life he had been elsewhere; now he wanted to be here, even if Shun was not.

She came down the stairs dressed in a silken white robe. What enraged Ikki the most was that, despite how much he wanted to blame her, how much he needed to convince himself that someone other than himself had failed Shun, he could not look at her for one full second without feeling his heartbeat accelerate. She looked more beautiful than ever now, even though signs of exhaustion punctuated her face. Her robe floated softly behind her as she descended the stairs, as it might in a Hollywood musical.

But to think of her was to think of Shun, and to think of Shun was to hate her.

He examined her face for some time, and then said, "Have I perhaps done anything to give you the impression that I like you? That I enjoy talking to you? That I was longing for your company for the evening? Because, if so, please accept my apologies for being so misleading," he stabbed as her feet touched the floor.

"I think this is still my house," she retorted, coldly.

Her answer made his blood boil. Oh, he would make her feel it. He had to make her feel it.

"Yes, more than ever now that you have it all to yourself."

She froze like a deer in the headlights. He could see he had gotten to her. He almost regretted it.

"Are you insinuating that I... that I _rejoice_ (she spit the word like it was poison) in your brother's..." She breathed heavily, unable to voice it.

"You have to admit, Athena, that it's hard to see why someone who could have so easily done something about it just chose to omit themselves. Except of course if they didn't care"

"And what could I have done?" she spat, her cheeks flushed. "Tell me, what exactly could I possibly have done?"

"You could have saved him. You could have saved him like you would save any bastard who so much as dreamed he could die, back at the time of the war."

"And how was I to save Shun?" She spoke pausedly, but her face was flushed and her fingers tapped incessantly on her thighs. "Tell me, Ikki, how was I to save your brother?"

His voice sounded maniac even to himself when he answered, "Blood of Athena, of course."

She looked at him attentively, almost clinically. Then she said, in a calm, controlled tone of voice, "I used that in Hades because I knew I could come back. I wouldn't be able to now. And you know, Ikki," she sighed, "you know that I can't die."

That drove him crazy.

"To hell with you!" He did not even notice he had reach for the bottle until it had flown across the room, whizzing a foot away from Saori's face, and exploded spetacularly against the mirror on the opposite wall. For one second all was silent; but the cracks in the mirror progressed through it like an army on a city under siege, fractioning its surface to insignificant portions of robbed land, until finally a shower of shattered glass poured upon Saori's tapestry.

She did not so much as turn around.

Instead she looked at him deeply and intently, and asked him slowly, "Do you think I should have killed myself to save your brother?"

"Yes," he said, no longer yelling.

"Do you wish I had died instead?"

"Yes," he whispered, unsure of what he was saying. The strangeness in her tone and in her eyes was starting to scare him. This was certainly not where he had wanted the conversation to go.

"It would have been merely a just reward, wouldn't it?"

"We gave our lives for you," he said, feeling that he no longer had control of his own thoughts.

"Athena is always just." She turned around, her white robe flowing smoothly behind her rapid feet. Ikki stood stunned, unable to move. He waited until and long after she disappeared from his sight.

There was a dangerous glow in her eyes when she came back from the kitchen. He clenched his fists apprehensively, not entirely sure what to expect as she approached him silently, looking directly into his eyes. Then a flash of light caught his eye, and he noticed she was holding a knife. His arms tensed; he stood up. She was walking over the bits of the broken mirror now, making her way towards him to the sound of high-heeled shoes smashing pieces of glass. The she stopped, knife in her right hand, and stretched open her left arm. He felt a presentment run up his spine, but it was a split second before everything happened.

"Blood of Athena," she announced gravely.

Without further warning, she held up the knife to her left arm, eyes fixed on his, and with a requiem-like cry of pain Saori slit open her wrist.

* * *

I gotta tell you: maybe it's just me, but I kind of think that was one heck of a cliffhanger. :D

Good news: I'm on summer vacation again (graduated! Starting grad school next year, yay), and I've got the rest of the story pretty much figured out. I even have a wedding dance scene all written up and good to go:) (I assure you it's not what (or who) you're thinking!) So I'm almost sure I'll have Star-crossed finished by the end of the summer. Hope you'll stick around. ;)


	13. Call It Even

Disclaimer: Saint Seiya is the property of Masami Kurumada, Toei Productions (anime) and Shueisha.

**Call It Even**

Steeped in the darkness of the bedroom, Saori struggled to reconstruct the scene. She could not remember what his first words had been, or why it had taken him so long to move, so long that she had been able to slice her flesh once more. She lowered her eyes to her bandaged wrist, and imagined the twin trails of black stitches that now ran up her left arm. They still hurt terribly. The thought of having been so absurdly dramatic made her ashamed of herself, but at that moment if had felt like the exact thing to do. A part of her, small though it may have been, had even hoped that it was enough to give her the rest she needed.

But of course he would never have allowed it. Oh, no.

He was the big charade. A split second after she had cut herself a second time, he had jumped on her, circling her torso with his arms so that her own were jackknifed against her body. She remembered precisely what he said as he seized her hands: "What the fuck do you think you're doing to yourself?" And then how he had cursed to no one in particular, "Call a fucking ambulance!" She remembered trying to wrestle out of his grip, kicking and screaming, trying to pull away from his chest, and that in order to stop her he had forced her against a wall, using his whole body to pin her still. Her wounded wrist was enveloped in his hand, and he was pressing his fingers against the point from where blood gushed out at the beat of her heart. In her crazy attempts to free herself, she even bit his shoulder (the thought of it made her cheeks flush now), but his only response was to calmly whisper, "You can hurt me as much as you want, but I'm not gonna let you hurt yourself." Then she relaxed, and exhaustion seemed to sink inside her like an anchor. It hurt so bad, a form of pain so primitive and so raw that it was meant to be experienced only as a forewarning to death. Ikki loosened his lock, expanding her cage by a half inch, and looked her in the eyes when he warned, apprehensively, "You can't sleep, ok? You have to stay with me until they send us someone." And turning his face away, "Where the fuck is that ambulance, Tatsumi?" When exactly Tatsumi had come into the picture would always be a mystery, but she did hear the butler's hurried steps in the other room. It was getting harder to distinguish sounds and shapes, to sense anything but the pain that was cutting through her. Ikki's body was warm and soft against her, a perfect reminder of how much she wanted to crawl beneath her sheets and sleep. That was when her legs failed her, and Ikki had to catch her and wrap his arms around her tighter. Forgetting the urge to fight him, she threw her arms around his neck and laid her head on his shoulder, and he whispered something into her hair before lifting her from the floor and carrying her in his arms to the nearest armchair. She was mildly surprised when he sat himself, rather than her, and nested her form carefully in his lap, one hand still wrapped around her arm, placing pressure on her cuts, and the other supporting her neck, fingers drawing tiny circles on her scalp. His voice shouted something, but the words were so hard to make out. Then she blacked out.

Now she was in a hospital bed, furtive lights from the hallway spilling on the sanitized floor, and her shallow breath was rivaled by the heavier one of a man resting in a chair that looked far from comfortable. Saori needed nothing to know who it was. He had crossed his legs in a strange angle, and his arms were folded against his chest in a way that gave him the appearance of reflecting on a very serious matter. Other than his resonant breaths, he might easily have been awake. She was amazed of how anyone could fall fast asleep in such an awkward position, but then it occurred to her that for someone who had endured the kind of training he had been put through, that must be far from intolerable.

* * *

The door was open, but still Ikki knocked on the doorframe. She shifted on the bed to see him standing there, and whispered for him to come in. He took one step forward so it could be said he was inside the bedroom, but went no further.

Saori gave him a feeble smile. She looked adorable, childish and embraceable. He felt something ache within him, in a painful and very bodily manifestation of the feelings he had tried so hard to ignore, and for a moment he felt a strong drive to kneel down before her, kiss her feet, and beg — what for, he was not entirely sure. But he was distracted from these thoughts by her voice.

"I am fine, Ikki. You should go away and let me recompose myself. Surely you are tired."

"I don't like the way you've been lying on that bed all day," he grunted.

"Do you think I should turn on my side?" she joked.

He snorted. "It can't be good for you to be shut in this bedroom alone all the time. And you don't even let the light in," he complained, taking large steps towards the window on the other side of the bed, and then pulling the curtains. Sunlight flooded the room.

She turned away from it, covering her eyes. "Ah, close the curtains, Ikki, the light is giving me a headache."

"See? You're turning into a vampire or something."

She laughed heartily. "And here I never knew you could crack a joke. Well, at least not an unsarcastic one."

He actually blushed. It felt strange, although not exactly bad, to have her expose him in that way. It felt intimate. He raised his eyes for a second and his gaze crossed with hers, transparent but daring, and for a moment there was no one in the world but the two of them, the one's secrets spread out open in the space between the window and the bed for the other to calmly peruse. That may have been why he made no attempt to resist the urge to tell her when it washed over him, and impulsively parted his lips to let the words stream out. "Listen," he began, but stopped dry as he realized he had no idea how to continue.

Thankfully, however, she came to the rescue, whispering, "I know."

He nodded, and, just for the sake of his reputation, added, "I still think it was the stupidest stunt you've ever pulled."

She smiled prettily. "I know that too."

God, was she beautiful. Ikki grinned and turned to the window, admiring the magnificent view of her garden. The sun burned through the skies and glowed in the tiny dewdrops that had showered the trees in the night. A sweet spring breeze enticed Saori's flowers to a graceful and colorful choreography, tuned to the low buzz of Tokyo traffic. It was a perfect day. He wanted that warmth to blow into the bedroom and make her better, he wanted to lie on that fresh-scented grass with her and run his fingers through her hair, nothing in their minds but the flowers and the birds and the humming bees. Those were strange things to want. Lying on the bed in white robes, her wrist wrapped in clean bandages and dark circles under her eyes standing out against the overly pale skin, she had a look of helplessness that made him feel again like the fifteen-year-old boy who had wanted nothing more than to take her in his arms and take care of her. Who was he trying to fool?

"We should get out of here."

"What? Out where?"

"Just…" He shrugged. "Out. Wherever. Didn't you have a place up in the mountains?"

"Uh, yeh. Why?"

"Cause we're driving there for the weekend. Pack light, princess," he warned, already heading for the door.

"Ikki, what are you talking about? We can't go there now!"

"Of course we can. I'll drive. I'll even take a car, I know you hate bikes. Hurry up, we gotta leave before rush hour. Do you need help packing? I'll get the bald bastard up here."

"Ikki, I'm supposed to rest for a couple days, and besides, there's work tomorrow, I'm not on vac―"

"That makes no sense. You can't rest _and _work. And you're resting, right?"

"Right, but―"

"Busted. Well, we're leaving then. Take you resting some place else. I'll be downstairs waiting for you. We leave in fifteen minutes, don't make me come and get you."

"Ikki, this is crazy! I've told you I―"

But he could no longer hear the rest as he stepped down the wooden stairs.

* * *

"Whoa, whoa, there," Ikki muttered as he quickly stepped in to relieve her of one of the bags of grocery supplies they had picked up on the way there. She felt bad letting him take almost all the weight, but stressing her hurt arm could cause her to pull a stitch, and one large bag was all she could handle with one arm. He closed the trunk, apparently oblivious to all that, and surprised her with a cheery remark on their whereabouts.

"See? This is perfect. Starry sky, peace and quiet, absolutely no butler. You really should consider moving up here."

"I wish I could, actually. I've always loved this place, since I was a little girl."

"And why can't you?" He dug into his pocket for a cigarette, but she covered his hand with his.

"You know, I really wish you wouldn't smoke tonight."

"Why not?"

"One, it bothers me, and two, you know it's not good for you."

"Interesting that you generously put your well-being before mine."

"That was in no particular order."

"Right. Well, FYI, I have spent entire nights breathing smoke from a volcano. My lungs are mush already."

"But this is something you can actually change, and that's just one more reason for you do it." She suddenly noticed she still had not released his hand, and withdrew it immediately.

"Well, what if I don't want to? Smoking's pretty good, you know. You should try it some time."

"Don't you want to live healthier and longer? Meet your grandchildren? Tell your stories to them?"

"Grandchildren? What on earth, Saori? You think my stories are fit for five-year-olds?"

"There you go, if you stop smoking, you'll see them grow old enough to hear them."

"Are you trying to be obnoxious? Or does it just come out?"

"It comes out. I can try, though."

"I say we save that for a special occasion."

Saori snorted. "You can smoke if you like, but please don't do it around me."

"Deal, princess," he said, but stayed where he was. Noticing that, she smiled.

"Good."

* * *

She propped herself up on her right elbow. "So how long have you been living there?"

"Almost two years, I think."

"In California?"

"I spent some time in Nevada the first year, but mostly California, yeh."

"And what kind of― well, what kind of work do you do?"

"You know, all sorts of work."

"Such as?"

"That's a lot of questions."

"Oh, come on, Ikki!" She punched him playfully on the shoulder, and he laughed a spontaneous, crystal-clear laughter that seemed to please her. "All sorts like what?"

"Well… I've been a bouncer at a bar."

"Oh, I feel sorry for those people."

"And I've been a _chauffeur_."

"Oh, for them too."

He glared at her in mock rage. She smiled brilliantly by means of an apology.

"I've also been a waiter."

"More sorry than ever."

"Yeh, that only lasted a day. Let's say that, as a waiter, I was a hell of a bouncer."

"Makes sense. So what do you do now?"

"I work at a gym. I'm a trainer."

"Oh, wow. That sounds fun."

"It's actually more fun that I would have expected, I have to admit that much."

"And are they ok with you being here?"

"Probably not. We'll see when I get back."

She looked amused. "You never even said anything to your boss, didn't you?"

"Did I ever say anything to you?"

She looked down with a coy smile, suddenly interested in the quilt Ikki had stretched for them in the front yard, the vibrant red of which her face's color was quickly coming to match, and Ikki laughed to himself. What was it about this girl that made it so irresistibly easy to provoke her? She was so easily embarrassed, so easily frightened. So helpless. Was that what drew him to her?

There was a moment of silence, and he took it to lie down with his arms behind his head, looking at the constellations above and musing on how his life was mapped out on them, in ways far more literal than for the average person. The complex entanglements of those imaginary lines were the same complex relations that he had seen himself drawn into. Ikki believed in destiny. He knew that his life was a reenactment of stories too ancient to be remembered, stories about fallen angels and broken hearts, stories about pushing a heavy stone all the long and tortuous way up a mountain only to see it roll down as soon as it reaches the top. High above, in those very stars, were the keys to his future, and the answers to his past. If only he could read the strange language in which those magic words had been encarved, so much would have been different. So much would have been better.

He remembered it might be time to make the grand gesture and relieve her of her crippling embarrassment.

"I have a question for you."

"Ok."

"What do you do?"

"What do you mean, what do I do?"

"I mean, what the heck do you really do in that office all day?" She was laughing. He let out a laugh too. "No, seriously. I've always been curious about that. Everyone has, really. Hyoga had this theory that you were actually running a multibillion-dollar online drug dealing business."

"Hyoga said that?"

"No, I actually just made that up," he grinned, laughing when her wide-eye surprise melted into amused disapproval. "But, really, we were all curious. So what do you do?"

"Well, these things are hard to explain to someone who's unfamiliar with corporate life."

"Oh, I'm not unfamiliar. I used to be a cleaner for this huge company."

"You did?!"

"Nope. Just wanted to see that face again," he laughed. "Your eyebrows looked like they might slip over to the other side of your head, you really should have seen it."

"Will any of the things you're gonna say in the next couple of hours actually be true?"

"Sure. I just won't tell you which."

"Ha-ha."

"Don't be evasive, missy. Tell us all about your drug empire."

"Well, the foundation is philanthropic, as I hope you know―"

"Of course I knew that."

"Yeah, right. Well, it's philanthropic, so right now my job is mostly to assess applicant institutions, meet with the heads, check out the places, go through documentation on what they've been doing, that kind of thing, then present a decision to the board of directors. I also make sure institutions currently on our lists have been meeting the standards we expect them to. See, we don't just give away money; it's sort of like grants, we give them money to meet a certain set of goals. If they do, we give them more money, if they don't, we withdraw."

"That sounds smart, surprisingly enough."

"It is. And then lately I've been helping with financial decisions. I've been studying a bit of that for the last couple of years."

"Shun would have liked to know that." His voice betrayed no emotion, but he felt a shortness of breath that had nothing to do with the altitude of the property.

"He did know, actually. He helped me quite a bit."

"Oh."

All at once, the excitement of her presence had vanished, and he longed to be left alone. Every stab of pain that cut through his heart was amplified when he remembered that this was not how it was supposed to go; Shun was the good boy, the promising young man, brimming with potential, expected by everyone to take on the world at any moment ― they just had to sit and wait for it. Ikki, on the other hand, was the fallen one, the dark-sider, steaming with angst, expected by everyone to turn his back on the world at any moment ― they just had to sit and wait for it. Ikki, not Shun, was the reckless driver. Ikki, not Shun, lived fast and drove fast in hope that he might die young.

"Are you thinking about him?"

Her voice sounded a bit frightful, as if she was not quite sure he wanted to hear it.

"What do you say we don't ruin our newfound civility by getting too personal?"

She nodded curtly and looked away, but Ikki did not need to see her face to know that she was hurt.

"I'm not ready for that, you know. Talk about him. Not now."

"I know. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have asked."

"It's fine."

They sank slowly into silence again.

"Do you want some tea?" she offered, standing up from the ground.

"I'm ok. Hey," he called, standing up behind her and resting both hands on her shoulders, "you stay here and I go get it. Your wrist must be hurting like hell, no?"

"Well," she pondered, "it does kind of hurt."

"Stay here, then, I'll get your tea."

"You realize you'll have to make it?" She sounded a little worried.

"I can make tea," he laughed, and went into the house.

* * *

He could, but apparently not very quickly. When Ikki finally came out of the house, Saori had dozed off for a few minutes, and was lying on her side, legs brought to her chest and blanket wrapped around her shivering body. She heard him come out the door, but was too sleepy to move; he carefully closed the door behind him, and Saori noticed he was trying to be quiet.

With a few inaudible steps he placed himself right beside her. Her pulse accelerated, but she held still, both because she was exhausted and because it seemed always rude to let him know that he had awakened her, when he was being so considerate about not disturbing her. Eyes narrowly shut, Saori waited quietly for him to leave, hoping that the rapid rise-and-fall of her chest would not give her away. But for quite a few minutes he did nothing except to stand there and watch her.

Suddenly, she felt his hand on her face, which instantly burst in fire beneath his touch. He seemed not to notice, because he went on to caress her cheek and dotingly mess her hair. Squatting down, he brought his face closer to hers, his breath burning her skin and sending shivers down her spine. She could not stand it; she had to let herself known, and so she turned on her back to face him, and placed her good hand on the back of his head in what she meant as a reassuring gesture. But when he took it for an invitation, Saori did nothing to correct the misunderstanding; instead she withstood his stare directly into her eyes, and moved her face instinctively to be even closer to his, so close that she could smell his breath and feel the light touch of his nose and mouth on her skin. And then it occurred to her that maybe he had interpreted her move better than she had herself, for there was no intent of reassurance in her fingers when the curled around his neck and pulled him closer, nor in her lips when they parted for his kiss.

* * *

Pleeeeeease review this chapter… :) Oh, credits to Hugo L. for the volcano observation… he was the one who pointed out how funny that Saori should be worried about Ikki smoking when he had that kind of lung damage on his record. :) 


	14. Awake And Dreaming

Disclaimer: Saint Seiya is the property of Masami Kurumada, Toei Productions (anime) and Shueisha.

**Awake And Dreaming**

Ikki had been unable to sleep for quite a few days. Yes, he had dozed off now and then, napped during the daytime, shortly snored, even, in the nights when he was most tired. But deep, reinvigorating slumber, the kind one depends on to feel light and alert through the day, was something he had not experienced since the night before his brother's accident. Call it a coincidence, call it a premonition; reality was that Ikki had spent a tormented night rolling around the bed on the eve of the disaster, stung by feelings of anguish and unease. For reasons much easier to pinpoint, not a night since had been different; and now he found himself turning over and over yet again, restless in body, mind and soul.

The truth was that sleep as he had known it as a child had long been gone. He remembered waking up later than his brother, as a young boy, and, when he was older, thoroughly enjoying the rare sleep-in mornings he was allowed at the Kido mansion. At Death Queen Island the pleasure of gliding into sweet oblivion was one of few he could not be made numb to, even when the earth was the only bed he could find for himself. Ikki had always appreciated the slow and lazy joy of sailing away from consciousness. But that had been then, and this was now; and what separated the two was a hot summer night seven years ago, when he had made a vow not to rest. For Ikki needed to be vigilant and to be vigilant was to be in vigil; and although his body had eventually broken that vow, as he knew it was bound to, his soul had faithfully kept it.

Getting up, he looked out the window upon the moonlight-bathed garden where the wind whispered secrets to the trees. Shun had died. He had not been there, he had never been there, not to hold his hand at the hospital, not to keep him from ever getting into that car, with an offer of warm pizza and cold beer. He had failed Shun, just like he had failed the love he had refused to give up. But in Death Queen Island, the things you did not give up were stolen away in the dead of the night; and stolen away was his love, on that hot summer night seven years ago.

His soul had been restless ever since that night. His soul would never rest again.

* * *

"What are you doing?"

"Well, I hesitate to call shoving a shirt and a toothbrush inside a backpack _packing_, but go ahead if you're comfortable with it."

"Why are you packing?"

"Probably because I intend to leave, Watson."

"Leave _who_?"

"I said: 'Goodbye, Saori'." He waved sarcastically.

"You're just unbelievable."

"And you're a goddess from Greek mythology. How's that for a glass roof?"

"Where are you going?"

"Have you thought of an excuse?" he inquired, ignoring her.

"An excuse for what? Ikki―"

"For your wrist. You're gonna need one, and a good one at that. 'Tried to kill myself to make a point' is not likely to work on our Mr. Charming."

"Our what? Would you exp―"

"My wit is just lost on you people, now isn't it? Seiya, sweetheart. Messy hair, messy head, rain forest-style eyebrows? That's the guy."

"What does Seiya―"

"He's coming up here to stay with you. And I," he zipped up, "am leaving."

"Leaving where? You're leaving me here? Why?"

"I told you. Seiya's coming. No need for me to stay."

"But why is Seiya coming? I thought you wanted to be here."

"So did I, which comes to prove even the best among us make stupid mistakes. Well, I'm all set. I'm gonna go wait outside, but if anything comes up that you need two hands for, feel free to come borrow one of mine. And I'm sure Seiya'll just chop one right off as soon as he gets here. If you pout maybe you can get the other one too, as a spare, you know."

"Will you stop this senseless rambling and actually talk to me? What's going on? Why is Seiya coming up here?"

"Because I'm gonna call him and tell him to."

"And why would you do that?"

"Again, probably because I intend to leave, which brings us right back to my second line in this conversation. Do you wanna go over the whole thing again, or are you ok with just one go?"

Saori sighed heavily and let herself tumble on the bed.

"Is this about what happened last night?"

"_This_, princess, is about what happened the last twelve years. This is about why and you and I can't be in a room together."

"Uh― because we end up in each other's arms?"

He glared at her. "No," he prolonged the vowel, "because any signs of fondness for you on my part are an indication that I should be sent away for psychiatric attention as a possible case of Stockholm syndrome."

"Stockholm syndrome," she articulated pausedly, as if weighing the words.

"It's when the victim falls for the ruthless villain. Like I said, even the best among us." He shrugged, throwing his backpack over one shoulder and fishing a cigarette out of his jeans. "Don't bother whining," he warned waving it. "I sure as hell don't intend to be near you when I light up this one."

Saori followed him out of the bedroom. "Ikki, you brought me all the way up here, now please have the decency to at least discuss why you're leaving me alone."

"I told you a million times won't be alone. I'm calling Seiya."

"Well, I don't want Seiya, I want you!" she shouted at the top of her lungs.

He stopped, spun, and for a breathless moment she saw him stare at her in confusion, startled, quietly amused, and ― Saori hoped ― flattered. When he spoke, his voice was lower, his tone tamer, seasoned with just a sprinkle of bitterness. "I can't stay here with you."

"Why not?"

"I think we both know why."

"It didn't seem so yesterday."

"Don't talk about that like it meant something."

"Don't talk about it like it didn't!"

Silence fell between them like a curtain. Saori's heart raced in her chest, and several dangerous seconds passed, time streaming away, too fast and yet not fast enough. They stood face to face, confronting each other like they had so many times before, constantly engaged as they were in that form of psychological warfare that seemed to be copyrighted by Ikki Amamiya, all rights reserved. One that she had experienced six years before, in circumstances all too similar.

"This is not the first time we've had this conversation." When he made no answer, she emended, "Only this time it was you who kissed me."

"I can't do it."

"Why not? How much longer are you gonna deny that you have feelings for me?"

"I can't have feelings for you, goddamnit!"

"Why, because you just _have_ to hate me?"

"And how could I not? You ruined my life!"

"It wasn't me, Ikki!" In her frustration, she almost screamed. "Things just happened. Things always happen. Things happened to me as well."

"You don't understand," he murmured, starting to pace away from her. "You have no idea what it was like, Saori. You have no idea what it was like there. The heat, the wind that felt like it blew out of an oven. The night she died, it was so hot…" His voice trailed off and his eyes lost themselves in the distance. Saori thought she spotted the earliest trace of tears spring from them, but she could not be sure. "When she fell to the ground, there was sweat on her forehead. The first thing I did was to wipe it clean, before I even checked her pulse, before anything. It was so reflexive."

There was a tortured look in his eyes that Saori had glimpsed at many times before, but had never seen surface so completely. He never talked about her, never talked about his loss, but she had always suspected that there was something buried deep beneath his silence, something that he had spent years carefully covering up with that calculated misanthropy he played so well. And now she finally understood what it was.

"Ikki―"

"And sometimes― sometimes I would blame it all on him. I'd say to myself, 'This is all Shun's fault.'"

"It wasn't Shun's fault," she sighed.

"Of course not." He turned his eyes to her suddenly. "It was yours."

"I lost him too, Ikki!" And suddenly the weight of grief on her shoulders was so overwhelming that she bent under it, sobbing, squatting down so as not to lose her balance, her face shelled behind her hands. He took stepped forward in concern, but she slipped her hands behind her head and spoke again. "I lived with him for years, and I loved him so, so much, and now I walk into his empty room and there's no one there," words strained out her burning throat, her voice thick with tears, "and sometimes that hurts so bad I just wanna crumble on the floor and cry until I drown myself, but I know that I need to let go. Because it wasn't my fault. It wasn't my fault that he passed. And it wasn't yours, either."

"I should have been there, Saori. I should have been there for him, as I should have been there for her."

She had slid all the way to the floor and was sitting on it now, but stature was not lacking when she said, "That wasn't your fault. It wasn't my fault either, Ikki, but above all, it wasn't yours." He looked away, but she called out. "Look at me, Ikki. It wasn't your fault."

"I should have gone for Guilty. I should have killed him sooner."

"You were just doing the right thing."

"Well, my righteousness killed her!" Ikki thundered, and when he hurriedly turned his back to her, Saori realized that those had been tears after all.

"Her father killed her, Ikki! Not you! I know you desperately need to blame all of this on someone else so you can stop blaming yourself, but― maybe you just need to realize that you were never to blame in the first place. The truth is that sometimes terrible, excruciatingly unfair things happen for no good reason." She went quietly to stand right behind him. His shoulders quavered, and when she laid one hand on one of them, she felt his frame lock. "And then you just have to let go, Ikki."

"I was so terrified that it would happen again, and I didn't see it coming. I didn't see this coming." His shoulders were shaking more violently now.

"It's unfair and it should never have happened, but there's nothing any of us could have done to avoid it."

"I loved him."

"I know," she whispered soothingly, now reaching around to slide her hand down his chest, and nuzzling silently against him. His hand quickly found hers. "I know that. He knew it too."

And for long minutes he sobbed, never turning, but holding dearly to her hand as she waited with her face between his shoulder blades, feeling the irregular jerks of his chest.

* * *

Oh, Ikki, Ikki, so inconstant. :) I kind of like him this way, though, don't you? Well, maybe (I said maybe) these two will finally sort things out now. I hope to have another chapter up soon. :)


	15. The Maiden's Choice

Disclaimer: Saint Seiya is the property of Masami Kurumada, Toei Productions (anime) and Shueisha.

**The Maiden's Choice**

He had not decided yet whether or not he was ready to head back, but his feet seemed to have resolved the matter by themselves. In a slow but steady pace he made his way back into the house, not knowing how much time had passed since he had as gently as he could pushed her away and ventured out to be alone.

It must have been hours, for bats screeched and trees murmured in the dark as he made his way back through the woods. He had needed to be alone. He could only take in so much at a time, and today, there had been so much. The flight, the fight. Her words had flown to places in him that were long abandoned, desolate sites too painful to revisit, on the walls of which he had carved his grief. And then had come her soothing touch, her healing hands upon his heart, sealing his injures, easing his agony. She had understood what he himself could not have explained.

Tonight the moon was low and big and yellowish on the sky, a lovers' full moon. If there was one good thing about Death Queen's Island, it was that for some reason there was a higher incidence of the lovers' full moon there than anywhere else he had ever known. She loved them; she looked at the sky in awe every time, as if it had been the first.

Guilt, yes. Of course there had been guilt. There always is, because from the tenderest age we are taught to fit events into neat cause-and-effect templates. We do so to protect ourselves from the randomness that seems to surround us; without cause and effect, there is only chaos, and chaos is troublesome. Chaos must be somehow put to order. So we learn to weave long and meandering causality chains that can trace a hurricane to a butterfly's wings; we become skilled in the intricate art of assigning everything to its cause ― and the inevitable corollary of "Everything has a cause" is "Everything is to blame on someone."

There had to be a cause. There had to be someone. To prove that he was not to blame, he would have to appoint someone else.

Saori had been easy to hate at first. A distant memory, a faceless name, she was a type rather than a person, a "rich bitch" who could not care if someone was made to go all the way to hell for her. The sight of her arrogant figure covered in jewelry at that tournament, barely lowering her eyes to look at the boys that she had turned against one another in gruesome violence for entertainment of the savage crowd, did nothing to counter this impression of her, and much to reinforce it. So he was glad to convince himself that all her smiles were sneers at him, that she took pleasure in his pain. For a while, his own delusion drove him wild, and he dreamed of her at night, the sort of dream that he inflicted upon his foes out in the battlefield.

But however hard he had tried to believe it, he soon learned that was not her. She cared. She was kind. She had never been humble, but she had been humbled. She was generous and giving. She was clever. And the one thing he had never been able to deny ― she was beautiful.

"Ikki?" Saori was standing on the porch, a few yards away from him. She looked worried. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," he said softly, speeding his pace to be beside her sooner. "Have you been waiting out here all this time?"

"There wasn't much to do inside."

"You're not dressed to be out here, it's freezing." He touched her arm. As he suspected, it was ice cold. "Look at you, you're freezing. Let's get you inside." He hushed her through the entrance door.

"I was worried that you might not come back," she confessed.

He stopped and touched her shoulder to make her turn.

"You know I couldn't have done that."

Her expression morphed into a slightly annoyed one.

"I _don't_ know it. I don't get you at all. I never know what you would or wouldn't do."

"You ought to know I wouldn't do anything that would hurt you," he said anxiously.

"You've hurt me before," she replied, in a wounded tone. "Just not with your hands."

He knew she was right, and it broke his heart. "Come on, kid," he tried, rubbing one of her clenched arms. "You know me."

"Do I? Really? Why did you bring me here, Ikki?"

"You needed rest."

"No, why did you _really_ bring me here?"

He clicked his tongue, thinking fast. So this was it. This was the time to say it. To her, to the world. To himself.

"Because I wanted to be with you. Because I still have feelings for you."

He held his breath waiting for a response. She was quiet for the longest time, then she smiled. "I've been trying to make you see that."

"Come here," he laughed, and pulled her into his warm embrace. "I guess you do know me, then."

* * *

"Are you one-hundred percent sure you know how to cook?"

"Trust me."

"See, I wouldn't be asking if I did."

"Very clever, funny girl," he shouted from the kitchen.

Saori was lying on her couch giggling nervously; not because of the gastronomic forecast ― well, maybe a little because of that ―, but mostly because something had happened which she did not quite know what to do about. From the moment Ikki looked at her and openly said he had feelings for her, she had been at a loss as for what to expect. Where did this put them? He had held her, but not kissed her ― why not? And after that, there had been little things: a squeeze, a rub, a kiss on the cheek; she rested against his arm when they sat together before dinner, and in response he played with her hair. There were signs, there was something, but what exactly was happening? Was he holding back because he knew about her vow? Or was he just not interested? What if "having feelings" had not meant what she thought it meant? The uncertainty was driving her crazy ― and in that scenario it most certainly did not help that Phoenix Ikki was in charge of her dinner.

She decided to peel herself from the couch and pull a chair in the kitchen with him.

"So, Mr. Celebrity Chef, what's the menu?"

"Yakisoba."

"Interesting."

"Very. I have a secret ingredient for the sauce."

"I'm sure you do," she snorted.

"Don't knock it till you've tried it, kid."

She stepped over to the stove and peered inside the pan. The color was good and it smelled nice. He slapped her wrist playfully.

"Where are your manners, little lady? Go wait at the table. I'd tell you to set it, but with the bad wrist and all―"

"Oh, I can do it."

"No, we'll just eat in front of the TV. It's more fun that way."

"Ok."

The food was ready before long, and Ikki served two generous plates and helped her carry them to the living room. He then went back for beverages.

"What do you want to drink?"

"An iced tea would be fine."

He came back with her tea and a coke. She had noticed the soda cans piling up in the garbage can.

"You drink a lot of coke, huh?"

"I have a thing with caffeine."

"What kind of thing?"

"An addiction."

She giggled. He smiled. They sat not on the couch but on the floor in front of it, and Ikki turned on the TV.

"So," she started, trying to balance her plate on her knees while holding her chopsticks in her good hand, "let's see what you've been doing in that kitchen." She managed to tweeze a morsel and bring it to her mouth. What she tasted startled her. "Oh, my god, this is delicious!"

He laughed out loud. "I told you it would be."

"But I didn't believe you for a second," she said, causing him to laugh more, which pleased her immensely. The food was very good, and he seemed genuinely flattered. "Where did you learn to cook like this?"

"Well, I don't always cook like this. This is sort of my specialty. But there are a few things apart from yakisoba I can cook quite decently."

"And who taught you?"

"Oh, you know." He seemed a little embarrassed. She decided to push.

"Really, who worked this miracle?"

"Just some girl I met," he mumbled, almost blushing.

She tried to sound playful, even though her heart was sinking. "Some girl, huh?"

"Years ago."

"Was she your girlfriend?"

He shrugged. "We lived together."

"Oh." She did not know what else to say.

"It's complicated."

"It must be."

Then there was silence, and she tried to let herself be absorbed by the images on the screen. It was impossible; she could hardly figure out what was on, much less stop her mind from obsessively replaying what he had just said. He had lived with someone? Who could it be? How long for, and how long ago? Where was she now? Had he loved her? Did he still? Who left whom? Why? Every question seemed to spawn a dozen more.

"Do I sense a little jealousy?"

Saori almost choked on a piece of chicken. "What?"

"Are you jealous?"

Her first impulse was to deny it, but, thinking back on her doubts about where they stood, she decided this could be the time to find out. So she filled her lungs with air and declared, "Yes."

He chuckled. "You don't have to be. It's been over for a while. And besides―"

Seeming to reconsider, he hesitated; but she needed to know, so she asked eagerly, "What?"

"Well… I'm not gonna pretend I've been sitting around waiting." He looked deep into her eyes, and she tried to imagine him with another woman. If he had lived with someone, then he definitely had― "But it's different with you," he finished.

"Different how?" she asked, entranced.

At that question he paused, set his plate and hers on the floor, and turned to face her. His fingers went to her hair and caressed it lightly, toying with the long violet strands. Then his palm, warm and coarse, cupped her cheek, and she felt his thumb tease her lips, gentle but firm. Electrical impulses raced through her body as she realized he was bending forward, slowly, carefully, and soon his face was inches from hers. Their eyes met, and for the first time in her life she completely adrift, lost in his deep blue orbs so full of secrets, so worldly, so rich with experiences she might never have. She felt like a little girl with a crush on her best friend's older brother. Appropriately enough, he grinned and asked:

"Are you fishing for compliments, kid?"

Her smile was shelled within his hands as he drew closer, and the tip of her nose touched his face and the tip of his touched hers. She had had enough kisses now to know about this moment, this game. The second before the kiss. His stubble stung her as she breathed in the deep scents of his aftershave and his cigarettes. His fingers drifted through her hair and she nuzzled closer still, until they were so close that she could not see his lips move when he needlessly whispered, "I'm gonna kiss you now."

* * *

It was hard to say, but he was almost certain that it had been her to lie down first.

Not that it mattered ― certainly not now, when his only concern was to support himself on his right arm so as not to crush her with the weight of his body, left hand free to wander up and down her waist and learn her curves. He wanted to learn her by heart, to know her by heart, and so he took in every detail, every nuance, every hue; every note of smell, every accident in touch, every change in taste. She seemed to want to learn him too; her hands traveled eagerly from his face to his neck to his chest to his back; but while his more daring routes led him from her shoulder to her hip and further still, she only ventured as far as insecurity allowed, to then retreat in more caresses. But she was hardly passive; she pulled him in, she pushed him out, she offered him her skin, she used her lips and teeth on his. Not quite as timid as he had expected, not quite as daring as he might have hoped. Her tongue burned the curve of his neck and her nails dug into his back, but she kept her dress below her knees and his mouth above her collarbone. He liked this, he liked her like this.

She pulled him again, his capricious sovereign, and he obediently leaned in for the kiss. It was soft, of course, warm and moist and soft; soft as her lips when he teased them, soft as her throat when he kissed it, soft as her flesh when he bit it; soft, soft, soft was her skin, flawless and inviting, tempting him out of his senses and down the forbidden trail that led to the curve of her cleavage. She let out an audible breath and her hands went up to cradle his head and rummage through his hair, which he took as encouragement to rub his bottom lip ever so gently against her breast. The friction caused her to arch her back underneath him, her body pressing against his as it never had before; but when he raised his head to look at her, she gently shook her head no.

"I can't. I'm sorry."

Ikki knew himself too well to stay on top of her.

"It's fine," he replied, sitting up.

"I know. It's just―" She started to sit up as well.

"It's fine."

"I really can't."

"Is it true, then?" he asked carefully.

"Yes, it's true. I am to keep a vow. A vow which I did not make."

A cold wave of frustration washed over him as he nodded. "I see."

"Oh, wait, no" she rushed to amend, "it's not a definitive situation."

"It's not?"

"No. Well, it was supposed to be, but― there's a way, you see."

"A way to what?"

"A way to love."

Ikki was still with expectation.

"I am allowed. But only with one man, and as long as bear his child."

He almost smiled. Of course it had to be infinitely complicated. These were their lives after all.

"I know it's a lot," she said.

But it was not. And it surprised him to see that to his heart things could not be simpler. "I love you. I have for six years. Why wouldn't I a lifetime from now?"

She just stared at him, stunned, for a few long seconds, then stuttered in a tone of incredulity, "Does that mean you want to get married?"

* * *

Oh, does it? ;)

No promises for next chapter, except that I will post it!


	16. Surprise, Surprise

Disclaimer: Saint Seiya is the property of Masami Kurumada, Toei Productions (anime) and Shueisha.

**Surprise, Surprise**

In the eyes of her mind were his orbs and his smile earlier, radiant with joy as her delighted self stood up from the floor where they had been sitting to accept his extended his hand and be pulled into his embrace. To the music of silence they had danced, slowly and thoughtlessly, in her chilly living room, mirth resonating against the walls from his silly whispers in her ear, a scent that was the deep smell of happiness settling around them. Hours had passed in absent-minded playfulness, interrupted often by kisses that tended to deepen and widen and lengthen until one of them had the sanity or the frightfulness to pull away. They had found each other finally, and despite everything it seemed foolish and unreasonable to let go, so they agreed not to — which was why Saori was making her cautious way from the bathroom to his bedroom instead of hers, and why it took her a moment standing by the doorframe before she made her way in.

She came by the bed and placed herself in front of him, their eyes meeting, his head level with her shoulders. She ran one hand through his messy hair, slowly and curiously, to finally rest it on the nape of his neck, where she could feel his hairs stand on end. He stood on his knees on the bed, and brushing his hands against either side of her waist encouraged her to take a tiny, shy step forward, letting a strange and powerful magnetic force form itself in the imperceptible distance between their bodies. Her arms seemed to find their way around his neck, and her forehead went to rest against his. "I love you."

He stroked her back gently and barely touched her head with his lips. Then he moved over to the other side of the bed to make room for her, and Saori felt attentive eyes on her as she sat down beside him and slowly slid her bare feet beneath his sheets, still cold from the chilly mountain air. Twisting her hair into a loose bun to gain time, she let back rest against the wooden headboard, legs bent at odd angles and her shaky hands lying useless along her body. She stood still, afraid that she might brush against his body if she moved.

"Well― wha― what do we do now?", she muttered, struggling but undeniably failing to keep her nervousness out of her voice.

"Now," he took her hand in his and kissed it tenderly, "we sleep."

She felt the tension between her shoulders melt off, and was surprised by how easy it was to relax on his chest when he pulled her into welcoming arms, which girdled her waist as their legs intertwined at random chance. The feelings were so rich, to be flattened on his body as she lay, experiencing his flesh and bone and skin, his hands moving ever so slowly over her camisole.

"Is that comfortable?", he inquired, moving his head to place an almost chaste kiss on her shoulder.

Face pressed against the curve of his neck, Saori nodded and inhaled deeply. Ikki was in bed with her. The most arrogant and sarcastic and bitter and… _difficult_ of all the saints was in bed with her.

And she was going to marry him.

_Marry_ _Ikki_. The words did hardly go together. Marry Ikki, marry Ikki, I'm going to marry Ikki — she tried them out over and over, but they resisted the power of habit and sounded foreign every time. The difficult one, the impossible one, the only one she had ever thought could hurt her. He was bitter, bitter, bitter, and that made his sweetness all the sweeter. His world was a mystery, a chamber of secrets, which slowly he would disclose to her; his heart an intricate book of scriptures, which he would help her decipher. There would be no more misunderstandings, no more uncertainties or insecurities, no more comings and goings. There would be nothing between but the solid bond of marriage and surety about the future, nothing like the reassuring sound of his heavy breaths when he slept. She would lie by him and awake by him and be his wife, every day for the rest of her life.

Suddenly, she was anxious for the rest of her life to start soon.

* * *

Saori's fingers found the warmth of his shoulder and gripped it, causing him to shift. He rolled on his side to face her, then pulled her head to his chest while she tucked her hand beneath his body.

"Morning."

"Shh," he whispered. "Don't talk to me. I have temper in the morning."

She giggled. "Only in the morning?"

"In the afternoon it's more like a wrath, I would say."

"You must be the moodiest person I know."

His mind was lit up as if by lightening and he thought of her — the moodiest person _he_ knew. Wherever she was, he hoped she was fine.

Wherever she was, it was time to bring her up. He sighed deeply.

"Maybe I should take advantage of my morning cheerfulness then to talk to you about something."

"About what?"

"There's something I need to tell you, something about my past. It's complicated and—"

"Is it unpleasant?" she asked, head up.

"Well," he weighed the matter for a moment. "I suppose in present circumstances it will be, yes."

"Then can it wait?"

"What?"

"Can it wait? Can it wait until we're back in the mansion?"

Could it? "Well, I guess…"

"It's just that it's so nice here," she continued, laying her head on his chest and nesting herself closer. "I don't want to ruin it with serious conversations yet. You know, marriage, and the wedding, and the others, and Shun, and your life in America, and whatever it is about your past that you want to tell me... I want to hear it, but it's all so real. I wonder if maybe we can postpone reality for a couple more days."

He knew exactly what she meant. The night they had spent had been idyllic, perfect. To be here now, lazily stretched in bed, with her in his arms, was so brilliant and so surreal. She was right about not wanting to ruin it.

"I guess it can wait then. Just until we get back."

"Thank you."

"Can't you think of a better way to thank me?"

She kissed him gently on the lips. "How's that?"

"It's decent," he whispered.

"And how's this?" she inquired, arms snaking around his neck and leg pressing against him while her mouth covered his. He rolled on his back and let her place herself on top of him, soft and teasing, hands on the stubble that covered his jaw line, teeth picking on his bottom lip and her legs spread to either side of him. Oh, this was a nice surprise, this side of her, he mused as his hands found their way to the small of her back and the nape of neck, brushing violet strands off her skin as they circled it with caresses. His palms were on the sides of her waist when she parted and asked, "Better?"

"Oh, much better," he chuckled, pulling her back for more.

Maybe a half hour, maybe a whole hour was passed in such entertainment, and Ikki fought with himself to give her exactly what she wanted but not more. They had not talked about the specifics of her arrangement with Zeus, but it had become clear last night that now was not the time. He respected that; he respected her. He just prayed it would not take much longer.

This was all such an outrageous plot twist from the first time they had met. Thinking about that, he whispered to her ear.

"I can't believe I'm here with you."

"What are you thinking of?"

"The first time I saw you. It was during the Galactic Wars, and I thought you looked so..." The corners of her mouth were twisted upward with the anticipation of flattery. "... full of shit."

"You're so mean!"

"Well, you were," he laughed. "You sat high up there like a queen or something. You barely looked down. I hated you for that. But from the first instant I had to acknowledge that you were a beautiful queen."

"I couldn't look. I couldn't stand to watch the fighting."

"I wish I'd known that at the time."

"You didn't look too good either. A bit too psychotic, I'd say," she joked.

"I had an evil laughter and all."

"I know! What was that about, anyway?" She was laughing loudly.

"I don't know," he shrugged. "Too much coke?"

"Gallons!"

"Junkie," she snorted, settling on his chest again. "Speaking of caffeine, maybe we should get out of bed."

"Are you kidding me? It's freezing out there."

"I know, it must have dropped fifteen degrees over the night. The house should be warm though."

"Not was warm as the bed."

"Still," she insisted, making a discreet motion to leave. He held her tightly against his body.

"You're not going anywhere until I let you go."

"And when's that going to be?" she asked with a grin.

"Never" he laughed, and rolled on top of her. She let out a gulp of air in surprise and smiled. He smiled back, a slow, lazy smile, and brushed the hair off her face dotingly. She was young and beautiful and she would be his wife.

It felt like his life was finally starting.

* * *

Ikki deposited Saori's bag on the floor and took her in his arms for a kiss on the top of her head.

"I ran out of cigarettes. I'm gonna run out for a pack."

"I wish you'd stop smoking," she whined.

"Well, maybe one day I will. But not today. Probably not tomorrow either. You go inside and I'll be right back."

"Don't disappear, huh?"

"I'll leave the bike here as a caution, then. Since you don't trust me," he said mockingly. She stuck her tongue out and he laughed. "Go have a shower and when I come back we'll think about dinner."

"Ok," she agreed, and smiled at Tatsumi, who had just arrived at the scene and looked like he had just seen his mother raise from the grave. "Hi, Tatsumi. Can you take my things upstairs? And Ikki's? He'll be staying for a while, so you can put his trunk in the room next to Shun's."

He nodded stiffly, and obeyed without a word. She followed him upstairs, going straight into her bedroom. Closing the door, she started to undo her clothes as she walked into the bathroom. She sighed at the thought of what would be waiting for her when she came in ― loads of e-mail, paperwork, and phone calls to return. Even though it was Sunday, she thought to briefly skim her e-mail to see what was urgent, and plan her week better. When Ikki came back, she had to remember to ask him what it was that he wanted to tell her about.

"Miss Kido?"

The butler was at the door, with a characteristic annoyed look on his face. "Yes, Tatsumi."

" There's a woman downstairs to see you. She came yesterday as well, claiming to be looking for Phoenix. I've told her he's not here, but she insists on seeing you."

"Looking for Ikki? Did she say who she was?"

Before he could answer, there was the sound of heels tapping loudly on the floor, and a petite blonde stormed into the room, chin high up, wearing a minuscule bright-colored dress and a dark overcoat thrown over her shoulders. She dressed herself like a whore, and carried herself like a queen. Flashing Saori an entirely inappropriate grin, the woman said, "Hello there, Ms. Saori. Listen, I flew a long way to see Ikki and the schmuck here wouldn't even offer me a seat. I saw his bike parked outside, I know he'll be here soon. Mind if I wait here with you? And then we can chat a bit."

She needed no invitation to make herself comfortable in Saori's couch, crossing her lean bare legs. Uncomfortable with the imposed familiarity, Saori tried to sound as distant as possible when asked her name:

"Excuse me, miss, but who would you be again?"

"Oh, silly me. My name is Li." The stranger stretched a burgundy-polished hand. "I'm Ikki's wife."

* * *

This has taken forever, but it's finally here, guys! : ) I remember at some point mentioning that the whole purpose of writing Star-crossed was writing this one great scene that I had in mind. Well, this was the scene: a woman walking into Saori's studio and saying, "I'm Ikki's wife." While I was joking about it being the whole purpose, I do kind of think it's a great scene, isn't it? : ) And all of you guys who asked where Li had gone... well, you can ask her yourself now! :D

Things have been hectic and I haven't been feeling very inspired lately, but I still have every intention to finish writing this, so don't give up on me just yet. : )

Till next time, people!


	17. A Skeleton with Dyed Hair

Disclaimer: Saint Seiya is the property of Masami Kurumada, Toei Productions (anime) and Shueisha.

**A Skeleton with Dyed Hair**

He walked into the room and there she was, standing a few feet away from a startled Saori, looking around distractedly as if there were nothing wrong with storming into the home of someone she had never met on a Saturday morning to claim a husband she had not seen in years. Then she saw him, and he took in her motionless figure and her unreadable stare. They measured each other up, silently, forcefully. Ikki looked at Saori briefly, then back at her; finally, he spoke.

"I can't believe you dyed your hair."

She gave a small smile.

"Hi there too, sugar."

Ikki's face softened, and finally he broke into laughter, spreading out his arms. "What the hell are you doing here?" he asked as she embraced him tightly. "God!"

"I've missed you, you bastard!"

"I've missed you too, you know that," Ikki said in a lighter tone, and squeezed her tighter before releasing her from his arms. He examined her carefully, grinning all the while, then checked himself at her face. She had a dreamy expression as she looked into his eyes, not entirely unlike the way she used to look at him then. Ikki cupped her cheek with his right hand, and she nuzzled her face against it.

"I'm sorry, Li."

"That's not what I came here to talk about," she said in a bittersweet tone.

"We shouldn't do this here." Ikki gave Saori, who was staring at them in shock, a nearly apologetical look, and muttered, squeezing the girl's wrist, "Saori, Li is a longtime friend from China. I'll tell you all about her soon, ok? I'll be right back," but still threw an arm around his wife's shoulders. He could explain later, as long as Saori did not know how much more than a friend Li really was. Li nodded a perky goodbye to the hostess before being led out of the room, and did not bother lowering her voice to comment, "You never mentioned she looked like me!"

They stepped down the elegant staircase and out to the gardens, Li making cheerful remarks about how beautiful everything was. They stopped for a split second at the doorstep to inhale the spring air as the tall door closed behind them. Only when it had did Ikki speak.

"I still regret the way I left you, Li."

Her face darkened suddenly. Ikki did not like her new haircolor, but it was undeniable that she was more beautiful than ever now; she was not as pale as she had been, and her features seemed to have matured somewhat. There was more color on her cheeks and her skin had a glow about it that he did not remember. She had also put on some weight, but just enough to look healthier.

"It was bound to be that way. I knew it from the beginning. And if I had left you, I might not have done any different."

"I used to think it was a good thing that I could just be myself around you, that I was comfortable to do all the awful things I had grown used to doing. But that was wrong, it was wrong of both of us. I don't want to be with someone I can be myself with. I want to be better than myself, I want to be my best self. But I didn't know that then, and I let myself hurt you."

She smiled. "Wow. You must really be in love with her."

He had not blushed in years, but his face burned when she said that. He wondered if anyone, even Saori, would ever understand him as well as Li.

"I can't hide a thing from you, can I?"

"Never could, sugar. Not from day one."

"Well, you believed I was a body guard."

"Nah, not really. I mean, I didn't know _what_ you were, but I knew something was up. No one would hire you as a body guard."

"I've worked as a bouncer, though."

"Bouncer suits you better."

"Doesn't seem to be that big a difference."

"There is. Bodyguards are expected to be reasonable and discreet."

"And bouncers are not?"

"Were you?"

He smirked. "So, pretty lady, how did you find me and what do I owe the visit?"

"I didn't find you, actually. I found her. I expected her to know where you were, but then when I saw the bike parked outside I figured I'd hit the jackpot. I was here yesterday and the day before, but they said she was away. They didn't tell me she was with you."

"So you got lucky?"

"Yep. You're hard to track."

"You'll never guess where I live now. Well, lived up to now."

"Where?"

"America."

"You're kidding me."

"If someone had told me five years ago that I would move to California and make a living as a martial arts instructor—"

"You would have punched them in the face."

"Of course."

"And then the stomach."

"Only if they insisted."

"Hah. Clearly you don't remember yourself from five years go." Ikki laughed out loud at this, knowing she was right. She added humorously, "But you can't drink there."

"Well, I can now, I turned 21 this year; but I always kind of found my way around before."

"I'm guessing you had to bed a lot of mature women to get you the goods."

"Hey, that worked with you."

"You were drinking when we met. It was a different set of goods you wanted from me."

"Are you flirting with me?"

"I see you're still full of shit."

"But you expected that."

"Never less from you, sugar," she smiled.

* * *

Saori sat down with calculated movements. Ikki's wife. Not ex-wife. Certainly not future wife. Ikki's _real_ wife.

He's always been full of surprises, now, hasn't he?

She reminded herself to breathe. Her chest seemed to have locked into a rigidly expanded and risen pose that prevented exhaling almost completely. Air flowed in slowly, and each breath was shallow and effortful. Above her right eyebrow, the pain was just starting to make itself at home. She pressed her thumb on it and remembered to breathe again. Her chest still refused to relax; cold tentacles spread to her temple, and soon the right side of her head was soaked in the pounding headache. It was time to breathe once more.

There was no telling how long they had been married. It might have been in America or it might have been before. Ikki had lived in China and had said she was a friend from China. But that could just mean she was Chinese.

Breathe.

She must have been the person who taught him how to cook. He said they had lived together. What exactly did that mean, "lived together"? It did not imply marriage, in fact, it implied they had _not_ been married.

Breathe.

And then there was the question of where exactly the marriage stood now. Judging from her absence from Shun's funeral, the length of the period he had spent in the house, and— well, and _that_—

Breathe.

There were of course several explanations for that. He might simply be cheating. He might consider himself single, being estranged from her. He might be _technically_ married, but not actually…

Breathe.

But what did that mean, "technically married"? And if so, why hadn't he told her? "Hey, do you want to marry me? Oh, by the way, I need to get a technical divorce first?" What sense did it make to propose to her when he was already married?

Breathe.

But, come to think of it, when exactly _had_ he proposed? She asked him if he wanted to get married, but he had never textually, explicitly, unambiguously answered. To say that _he_ had proposed was rather a stretch.

Breathe.

In fact, it was more the case that she had proposed to him, by asking that pathetic question. And he had answered a kind, noncommittal "We should think about that," complete with a smile and dance to silence. He had never said "yes." And not only that: he had never brought up the subject again. Not _once_. They had slept and awoken and passed the days together, and while she had been fancying herself his beloved and betrothed, he had probably been hoping that she would forget the matter and let it go…

Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.

Oh, you silly, silly girl.

It was immediately clear to her that they had never actually been engaged. She had been his girlfriend at most, more likely a fling. Anything beyond that — the commitment, the expectations, the plans — had existed only in her mind. She had shut him out and made it so easy for herself to believe what she wanted to believe, but what was it if not a misunderstanding? How else could all this be explained?

Saori sat down, toying with this new understanding of the situation in her hands, the headache freezing her skull. Ikki was married; whatever that meant exactly about him and his wife, it clearly implied that he was not marry her. Some bizarre misunderstanding had taken place, and even if there was some explanation that did not completely contradict the idea that Ikki had felt for her a sizeable fraction at least of what she had felt for him, it was clear that the thought that he could be hers forever was not but a naïve and unfounded fabrication of her much too eager heart. First she must part with that dream; and then, of course, she would part with him. Simple steps, she thought; one cannot be the reincarnation of Athena without learning from an early age to part with things. There would be tears, she was sure, in the darkness of her bedroom at night, but not now. Now the light that came in through the window made things very clear.

She had made a terrible mistake. Ikki had, to some extent, encouraged her, but not directly — in the end, he was just being Ikki. If anyone, she should blame herself. Or the part of herself that pretended not to know what was coming — at least that something was coming. How could there not be something? Was she to really believe that he had changed? That people changed? That she had changed him? That bitter, difficult, arrogant — and insanely handsome — frogs turned into docile, tender, caring — still insanely handsome — princes at the kiss of a gullible princess?

She should have known better. And now she did.

But thankfully, she thought, tossing her thoughts form hand to hand while trying to ignore the shouting pain in her temple, here she was, standing tall, no permanent damage done. No one had known, no one would know. It would be a little embarrassing to have Tatsumi undo the bedroom he had just prepared, but other than that her reputation, much unlike her heart, was intact. It was just a matter of calmly listening to whatever he had to say, calmly asking him to leave, and calmly tending to the pain for a few nights, in the intimate privacy of her canopy bed, curtains closed. There was no reason to be nervous when fate took its course; yes, it would have been nice if things had been different, but there was no way they could have been, and she must accept that.

Saori congratulated herself, calmly. She was handling this very efficiently. She was breathing again when the phone rang.

"Yes?"

"Saori?"

"Oh, hello, Seiya. Lovely to hear from you. How are you doing?"

"I'm fine. I just wanted to check on you. Are you feeling better?"

"From what?"

"Your flu. Ikki called me the other day to see if I could stay with you, remember? But then in the end he said not to go."

"Oh, of course." She had never realized Ikki had actually called Seiya. "I'm feeling much better, thank you."

"That's great. Also, I wanted to check with you about the gala."

"You mean the Foundation gala?"

"Yeh, I was wondering if you still need a date."

The word question went straight through her heart. A date for the gala — she had barely thought of that these last few days, and the event was just two nights away. After everything that happened in the mountains, she had briefly considered the matter and assumed she would be going with Ikki (an assumption so foolish she heard her cynical I laugh inside her head), but it was clear now that this would not be possible. She did, in fact, need a date. Just like she did every other year.

"Actually, I— well, yes, I do. I confess I hadn't been thinking much about this lately, but I'm glad you remembered. Would you be able to come?"

"I would love to. Should I stop by to see about the tux?"

"Sure, would tomorrow be ok?"

"It would be fine. I'll see you then."

Turning distractedly to the window she had been so far pointedly avoiding, she saw them in the garden. Her hands were on the sides of his neck, as if their lips were just parting.

"Great. Thank you, Seiya, and I'll see you."

She hung up hurriedly and ran straight to the bathroom, quickly dropping to her knees and bending over the toilet, her finger in her throat to help purge out the bitterness.

* * *

As you can see, I'm persistent. :) Not with everything... but certainly with this story.

I absolutely do not intend to leave it unfinished, even if it takes me months to put up every single chapter until the end. I am currently working (like crazy) on my Master's thesis, which is due in a couple of weeks, and will then be moving halfway across the world for a Ph.D.. That means it's fair to say I will probably not be updating soon, even though the next chapter is almost done. For now I leave you with this, which is a longer chapter, and I hope a good one - even if it creates a lot more problems than it solves, plotwise... :) If you're eager for the next update, do drop me a line - I'm a sucker for reviews, and everyone of them is guaranteed to make the next chap come a few days early.


	18. While You're Busy Making Other Plans

Disclaimer: Saint Seiya is the property of Masami Kurumada, Toei Productions (anime) and Shueisha.

**While You're Busy Making Other Plans**

Li was looking into his eyes and smiling. Looking at her beaming like that, Ikki immediately remembered their wedding day — if you could call the simple ceremony in city hall a wedding, anyway. So mundane: she needed a visa to get a promotion. Let's just get married. Oldest trick in the book. He'd given her a dark look and said, "But it won't mean anything. You know that, right?" She just laughed. Back then, he still believed her tough-as-nails act. Back then, he believed even his.

They quickly found out, of course, that there was no such thing as a meaningless wedding.

They had been living together for over three years, and married for almost two, when he packed up and left. Seeing her again, the guilt revived in him; for a long time he had been consumed by the realization that it had been cowardly and deeply hurtful to leave the way that he did. They had played their game of make-believe carelessness long enough, but Ikki knew the truth. She cared. He cared. There had never been romance, but there had been love.

He had missed Li. He still missed Li. Yes, he had always nurtured feelings for Saori; but Saori was on her pedestal while Li was in his bed. Back then, Saori had been his goddess, his muse, his leitmotif, but Li has been his companion, his friend, his wife. These were separate places in his heart, places that now were to be occupied by the same person. But he had gotten used to that partition. There was the life he dreamed of, and the life he built. They were finally touching now, but, truth be told, they had almost touched before; before Li's… ailment.

It was in the second year of their marriage that the signs began to creep in. A night not slept. A meal untouched. A workday missed. A caress declined.

And then, other, bigger signs. A month before their second anniversary, she had come home and mumbled that she'd quit her job. He asked about it, but she avoided the subject and just said her boss was "an asshole". Ikki never had any trouble believing anyone to be an asshole, so he just said they'd be fine and that she would have no trouble finding something better.

But instead, she stayed home. She said she needed a break, and again, he believed her; but it turned out to be a long, increasingly disturbing break. He didn't think it was strange the first few days that she chose to sleep in; she had always slept around ten hours a day if she had the chance, and she did, in his honest opinion, need and deserve some rest. But instead of gradually settling into a more normal sleep cycle, she just started to sleep longer and longer. Soon it was up to sixteen hours a day. She would be in bed before eleven and not get up until the afternoon; then she napped through sunset. When he asked her about that, she just kept saying she was tired.

What she could possibly be tired from was beyond him, however. She seemed to sit around and watch TV a lot; the novels she used to devour sat rejected on her bookshelf. She stopped leaving the apartment; before leaving for work he would ask her to pick up groceries and then he came home to find she hadn't. Her answer was always to shrug and say, "Sorry, I forgot." Physical intimacy (unlike the emotional counterpart) had never been an issue for them, but now when they lied together at night he found her less and less responsive, to the point where she stopped making excuses and just looked away when he touched her, quietly waiting for him to give up. He'd started fights with her about that, but Li didn't respond; she would just stare at him, looking lost. Eventually he realized something was deeply wrong, and stopped asking her to run errands or trying to get anything in bed other than sleep.

On her next birthday, she stayed in bed until five in the afternoon. He was home all day waiting for her to get up. When she finally did, he took her by the wrist and pulled her slowly to sit beside him on the couch.

"You need to tell me what's wrong, Li," he'd said. "Are you sick? Don't you feel well?"

And she just burst into tears. She must have cried for an hour. He held her in silent desperation while she fell apart in his arms. The woman he loved — for he did love her — was bawling for help, and he had absolutely no idea what to do.

After that, she gave up all pretense of normal life; she would stay in bed for over 24 hours at a time, cry openly, go days without saying a word. Ikki held her, brought her food, tried to make her laugh, to get her to talk to him; but she just smiled and went back to crying as soon as she thought him to be out of earshot. Sometimes she screamed for him and he came running; but she rarely said anything, and it was never coherent. She just sobbed and sobbed in his arms.

He remembered thinking about Esmeralda one day while Li cried against his neck, and it crossed his mind that it would be easier to see her dead than it was to see her like that.

Living in that tiny apartment with his agonizing wife, tending to her day in day out, with no one to lean on and no idea what had happened to them, made those few months some of the hardest of his life. Eventually he started taking any guilt-ridden opportunity he could to stay away from home; but after her first attempt at suicide, he had to stay beside her at all times to make sure she wouldn't hurt herself. He slept with his wrist tied to hers with a scarf so she couldn't get up and go jump from the roof or hang herself from the shower rod. Ikki had endured maddening physical pain and deeply scarring abuse; but to watch powerlessly as her beloved form languished into a mysterious black hole of unexplained sadness and continuous desperation was something the most hellish war scenes in his memory had not prepared him for.

He could never have left her then, even if it had made him mad to stay — which it almost did. But luckily he had not been the only connection Li had in the world, and a few months before third year of their marriage an angel knocked on their door. The first thing Ae-young, a pretty Korean girl who Li had befriended at work, said was:

"I just came to see how Li's doing, 'cause I haven't been able to reach her since those bastards fired her."

There was no way she could have missed the astonishment in his face, and he saw a weakened reflection of it in hers, followed by a glimpse of understanding. Ikki felt defeated and embarrassed; he wanted to send her away and protect Li's and his intimacy from anyone seeing their marriage in that state. But Ae-young touched his hand with uncommon kindness and asked him if he wanted to talk. Unable to refuse this offer to relieve his crushing loneliness, he sighed heavily and led the way to their tiny kitchen.

Li had not quit, he learned; she had been fired, and from what he heard it was hard to pretend there had been no good reason. From Ae-young's description, Li had been missing work a lot more than he noticed; Ikki realized she must have been lying every time she told him she was coming in later and stayed home after he was gone. When she went, she did less and less, to a point where all day she was sitting around doodling and walking to and from the restroom. Ae-young said the restaurant manager asked her, more than once even, what was wrong, and tried to give her different tasks to snap her out of her quasi-catatonic state. But she refused to answer or change her behavior, so eventually they'd let her go.

Torn between the desire to protect their privacy and the hope that she might be able to help, Ikki admitted to Ae-young that there had not been any improvement, and spoke to her in general terms about the strange routine Li had entered. Feeling that it was too deeply personal and somehow shameful for him as a husband, he did not mention the suicidal behavior; but now, years later, he realized Ae-young must have known. And it was her who gave him the advice that had probably saved Li's life:

"You have to take her to a doctor, Ikki. This is severe depression, she's ill."

He took her to a psychiatrist the next day, and the polite white-coated stranger's immediate understanding of Li's symptoms made him hopeful. Miraculously, after a few more appointments and several months on pills, the nightmare was gradually left behind, and Li became herself again.

But their relationship never did. The memories of what the two of them had gone through together lingered awkwardly unspoken between them, and guilt was tearing Ikki apart. Whenever he asked what happened, she said she didn't know, couldn't say, it was nothing in particular, it was everything — all the things people say when they're too kind to say "It was you." Ikki knew that; he knew it wasn't a coincidence, the fact that this lovely young flower had begun to wither away under his care. He was not a good husband, had never known how to be one, but the situation was such that he was a husband — hers. He wanted to make it better, but didn't know how; he not only did not know the answers, he didn't even know which questions to ask. And Li, Li was simply way too kind to ask for anything. Li had grown so accustomed to him that she asked for nothing beyond what he could give her, but, as her depression had made obvious, she was asking for too little, and he didn't know what else to offer.

He had always thought that when he left her — if he left her —, it'd be out of caprice, on a whim: an impulsive move, with no hesitation. If he wanted to go, he'd go. But that was far from what happened. He pondered for months after she was better. He doubted, he wondered. Should he? Could he? Dared he? Was he just being selfish, running away from the prospect of another episode? Was this exactly what a bad husband would do?

It must have been, because he did it. None of the questions had been answered that afternoon when he came home early, packed his scarce belongings into a backpack, and placed a little black gift box on her bedside table, no card or note. In the box, the only piece of jewelry he had ever bought her (for they had each paid for their own wedding ring). He took some pictures of them with him, left the rest for her. Five minutes later, the door to their apartment had become the door to his past, and he had never opened it again.

After that, everything up to Shun's death felt like some bizarre interlude, trying out someone else's life for a couple of years. He thought of their wedding rings: gold with a brushed finish (she hated bling, and he was thankful), their names very simply inscribed on the inside. That felt like enough; they weren't even going to get the rings — it started off ironically, a joke between them. But somehow, a few minutes into the marriage didn't seem like an appropriate time to bring up their original plan to take off the rings as soon as they left city hall, and neither did any point after that. So the rings never really came off. He didn't stop wearing his until after he was settled in California, and for some reason he when he got ready for Shun's funeral it seemed only natural to pack that too.

Now she was here, standing right there, and his ring sat in the very bottom of his backpack, just inside his brother's room. He wondered where hers might be, and if she even knew.

"What you thinking of?"

"I'm thinking about what a jerk I am," he said with a smile.

"To your credit," she laughed widely, "you were never guilty of false advertising."

They smiled at each other. Ikki was happy that it was still easy to.

"I'm also thinking of what brings you here."

"I just missed you," she said in a small voice, corners of her lips turning up in a coy smile. It was her flirty smile, he knew that much. His heart skipped a beat, for no particular reason except that hearing her say that to him then smile that way made him feel funny.

"And, of course," she continued, grinning, "I need a divorce."

"Wow. You're not getting married, are you?"

She laughed out loud, and he chuckled, not entirely sure whether or not that was supposed to be the answer, or what it could have meant.

"No, silly. Why would I marry anyone else when I could just stay married to you?"

Ikki blushed violently.

"No, the reason why I want a divorce is actually of a very practical nature. Kind of like the reason why I wanted a marriage."

He smiled bitterly, trying to conceal, to Li as much as to himself, that hearing her speak of their marriage like that made him feel uncomfortably hot. "So, what's going on? It's been almost two years and you never bothered before."

"It's just some stupid government stuff. I'm in a limbo for getting these benefits because I'm married but I don't have any of your information so I can't put it down and then my forms are never right. It's getting annoying and they're starting to deny my stuff."

"What stuff?"

She lowered her eyes, then looked away. "My meds."

"What meds?" he asked, eager, leaning in instinctively. She just bit her lip.

"You know what meds."

He was genuinely confused.

"You were supposed to stop. They said you'd be ok."

Her eyes wouldn't come back to his face.

"Well, I did stop, and it wasn't good. And I was alone, and that wasn't good."

Ikki moved away reflexively, hurt, and she bit her lip again, finally looking at him.

"It's not your fault, though."

"Of course it's my fault," he replied, his own eyes lowered now. "It was always my fault. We both know that."

But she almost yelled at him:

"No! No, stop that, you! It's not your fault, it was never your fault. Don't be such an ass."

"You think I'm being an _ass_?"

"Fuck yeah, I think you're being an ass. I think you're being a selfish ass, coming up with this little story about how the whole thing revolves around you, about how it just happened to be the most noble thing you could have done, walking out like that, when the noble thing was to stay, Ikki, to just stay there and care for your wife, for fuck's sake!"

She stopped and inhaled heavily, breath drained by her rant. Her face was red now, her eyes dark, and it was immediately clear to him, the real reason he was here.

"You wanted closure."

"I heard about your brother. I knew you'd be in Japan."

"You didn't bring him up."

"I didn't think you'd want to talk about him."

She was right. She was always right about him.

"I don't know what to say. You're right. You're right about everything."

She sighed.

"No, I'm not. I couldn't have asked you to stay. Not any longer than you did. It wasn't what we were in for, you know. And you were in too deep already, you got a whole lot more than you bargained for. I can only thank you for staying as long as you did. You know you saved my life. And you should know that so do I. For better or for worse… that wasn't really us. We never promised that."

"We should have," he whispered, taking her hand. "We shouldn't have been so stupid."

"But we were," she smiled, offering no resistance as he rubbed his thumb on her knuckles. "We were the stupidest people to ever get married and not admit it."

Ikki smiled. That was a good description. He squeezed her hand before letting go of it; she suddenly jumped into his arms, wrapping herself around his neck, and he welcomed her without hesitation, without surprise.

"I missed you, Ikki."

"I missed you too."

"Was it really not my fault?"

"No," she whispered against her neck, "I'm just wired that way, and I need the meds to be okay." Then she pulled away slightly, their arms still wrapped around each other's forms, only more loosely, and held his gaze to ask, "Would you still have left if I hadn't gotten sick?"

Ikki had felt that this question was coming, and he knew what the answer was. He knew it would kill her, and he could finally admit it killed him. But here she was, asking frankly, and he had no choice but to answer it frankly as well.

* * *

Wow! It's been over four years since I started this. I wish I could update more often, but unfortunately that's just harder and harder. I was still in college when I started; now I have a Master's degree and I'm starting a Ph.D.. I'm only getting busier. :)

I love this story, though, and I'll say this once again: I have every intention to finish this fic. Interestingly, I have a very different ending in mind than the one I started with. (I'll tell you what that was when I'm done. :)) In some sense, I guess the wait was good for something. Well, but then I realize that a lot of people would have liked the original ending better. :D

Ok, enough rambling for now. Unfortunately these days I don't always reply to reviews like I used to, but I'm always very happy to read them. I hope there'll be some for this!


	19. I Lose Some, You Lose Some

Disclaimer: Saint Seiya is the property of Masami Kurumada, Toei Productions (anime) and Shueisha.

**I Lose Some, You Lose Some**

"Hey, it turns out tomorrow's not good, and I was coming this way anyway—"

Not crying until bedtime had been too ambitious a goal, and Saori had a fraction of a second to wipe her eyes before Seiya noticed her in the corner by the window and turned toward her.

"Oh, there you are. So I thought I'd stop by now to try on the tux."

"Right," she replied quietly. "I'll get Tatsumi."

But as she moved towards the door without looking at him, he reached for her elbow and looked at her with concerned eyes. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine."

For a moment they stood there, awkwardly, her body angled away from him and her face down, strands of hair curtaining her eyes and hopefully hiding the tears that were about to sprout again. His grip on her arm tightened and he pulled her toward himself.

"You don't look fine. Here, look at me," he whispered, hand guiding her chin to look up at him. "Have you been crying?"

The tears were racing down her face now, but she still answered, "No." He looked at her as if in pain, and planted both hands on her upper arms, squaring her to be face-to-face with him.

"Are you thinking about Shun?"

Saori felt guilty that she was not, and guiltier still that she was going to lie about it. Slowly, she nodded, silently apologizing to Shun in her thoughts. Seiya squeezed her arms and took a step closer; she let herself be held, and took a deep breath. The scent of his skin was familiar and comforting, the way a husband's would be, she thought. She felt his chin on the top of her head and his arms around her shoulders, and let herself melt into the warmth. He was so solid, he had always been so solid. He didn't have a wife, he had never had a wife. He had truly, honestly waited.

They hugged for a minute before he started to let go; his hands went back to her arms as he created enough distance to focus his gaze on her face and ask, "Feel better?" She nodded again, like a small child. He said, "Good," and gently let go of her. "We don't have to deal with this right now, I can come back before the gala."

"It's ok," she said, throwing her hair back in an attempt to regain her poise. "I'm kind of in the middle of a conversation that I'll probably need to go back to, but I could ask Tatsumi to get you the tux and you can try it on. I think that's probably all we need to do today."

"Sure. I'm gonna go into my old room, and you can tell him to bring it to me there."

"That sounds fine. Thanks again for doing this, Seiya."

"The sacrifices we do for Athena…" he joked. And, in a more serious tone, "Listen, you feel like this, you tell me, ok? Really. We're all in this together."

She smiled sincerely. "I appreciate that."

He winked at her and left. She almost, almost felt like she could breathe.

* * *

"No."

He felt no need to say anything else — explain, justify, hypothesize. No, he would not have left, that was all there was to it. He'd realized it now, not a moment before. And he realized what it meant: every transition was arbitrary. Li stepped back and took his hand to her heart; he felt the metal she slipped in his hand and didn't need to look to know it was the necklace he left her. When his fingers slid down, though, the pendant was a surprise.

"I just can't seem to part from these," she mumbled, her hand wrapping around his fingers and the wedding band that hung from her neck. He pulled her in again, holding her close, hand still resting against her skin.

"Oh, Li."

What was there to say? Too much time had passed. Too many turns had been taken. The past that she was a part of seemed unrecognizable to him; their days in Li's small apartment in China, the ease they felt around each other, her skin against his every night, all of that was now a distant, foreign land, and he no longer knew the way back. If only he had known then what he realized now, if only he had understood that by loving her so deeply he had been not lost, but found — but what choice had he had, really, other than to become himself?

"It's ok," she said, softly, and he wrapped his arms around her shoulders as she tucked her head under his chin. "It is what it is, you know? It's just the way things happened. It's not your fault."

"But I'm so sorry."

"I'm sorry too."

And for a moment they stood there in silence, grieving the lost possibilities, the broken promises. She joked about it, of course.

"You're not gonna say we'll always have Beijing, are you?"

"I could."

"Spare me, sugar. Gonna sign the papers, then?"

"Can I just say one more time—"

Her index finger touched his lips lightly. "I know."

Ikki sighed. She did know. She always knew. And what she couldn't know, he was obligated to tell her.

"You know, as bizarre as this sounds, I was actually gonna come looking for you about this whole divorce thing. I need to tell you something, Li. I'm getting married."

"What?" she screamed, and he blushed violently yet again while she broke into laughter. "Oh my gawd! To her?"

"Well… well, yes."

"Oh my gawd! It's like a dream come true for you! Congratulations," she squealed, throwing her self into his arms, and he welcomed her for a warm hug. He admired her for being so detached, so selfless. When they met he had been wanting someone else, and now she did not appear to be the least bit jealous. There was this warmth inside of him now, the warmth of knowing that here was an amazing person, who he loved very much.

"I know. It's all pretty sudden.

"You must be so thrilled! When's the wedding?"

"Oh, we have no idea. It was actually very convenient that you took the initiative to roll the divorce forward, cause that would have kept us. I wasn't sure where to find you."

"And she's cool with this? I'd take her for the type to make a fuss of it."

"A fuss of what?"

"You being married."

"Erm— ok, she doesn't exactly, erm, know. Not yet, really."

"What do you mean, not yet?"

"Well, you're not gonna believe it, but I was going to tell her when I went into the room and then there you were," Ikki shrugged.

"What the hell do you mean you still hadn't told her?" she yelled viciously.

"Well, I tried, but we were away from the city when we got together and she went, 'Oh, let's not talk about anything unpleasant until we get back,' and then I waited until we got here, which we just did, like an hour ago. Don't be so shocked, though, I mean, we only just got to the point where this conversation even makes any sense, and—"

"Ikki, I just told her I'm married to you!"

"You what?"

"I had no freaking idea you were seeing each other! I thought it'd be funny to introduce myself as your wife!"

"Fuck."

He ran to the house without another word.

* * *

When Phoenix stumbled in, it was visible that he had been running, and Saori wondered why; maybe the woman had told him that she already knew the truth about them? How much time had he had, she wondered, to think about what to say to her? She had no interest in hearing it. Things were what they were, and she had no wish to be distracted from that.

"Saori, we need to talk."

"She already told me, Ikki. She said she's your wife. Is that true?"

He simply said, "Yes. Li's my wife."

She'd given him a chance to deny it. He had not. "Then what's there to talk about?"

"Don't you want to know what that means? What my relationship to her is? How this affects everything?"

"I'm not sure what your relationship to her is, Ikki, but it cannot be taken lightly that you're married." She heard herself and noticed she had switched to a more formal, slightly pompous register, but made no effort to abandon it. "Even if you have been estranged for some time, as I take it you probably have, neither of you hesitate to acknowledge the other as their spouse. And that's probably all I need to know."

"Aren't you going to ask me why I didn't tell you? Or what I plan to do? Don't you want to know where she was, why she's here now?"

"I suppose you were afraid of my reaction."

"I was, but that wasn't all. I tried to tell you, but you said not to mention anything unpleasant until we were back. And when we came back, here she was."

"You're right, I did say that." And I'm glad I did.

"So I thought it could wait a little."

His unusual willingness to explain himself was something she did not expect; he was fidgeting and his eyes darted around the room; not once had he touched her yet. Nervously, he added, "We're getting divorced, Saori, she came here to ask for a divorce."

"So the divorce is not your initiative."

"No, I—" he started, indignant, but she didn't let him continue.

"Ikki, I admit I'm very surprised by this and of course it's not pleasant to hear given the circumstances. But I enjoyed these last few days a lot and I'd rather think that this is some sort of past entanglement that you had good reason not to tell me of sooner and that it doesn't need to blemish the memory of our time together."

His eyebrows sought each other. "The memory of our time together?"

"It's a rather fond one for me."

He clicked his tongue and looked down with a defeated, frustrated air; but when he looked at her again and spoke, his voice was laced with anger. "Oh, fuck that."

"Excuse me?"

"I said _fuck that_. Fuck that! This is bullshit and I know it as well as you do! You're acting like a fucking robot to me because you're terrified, you're terrified that it didn't mean the same things to me as it did to you, that it was some kind of game, that you misread me and made a fool of yourself." Her stomach was suddenly aching and she wanted to protest, but to say what? "You're scared shitless and you're more worried about saving face than actually understanding what is suddenly between us, and let me tell you, Saori, this is the most cowardly thing I've ever seen you do."

And just like that it was her turn to lower her gaze, defeated, because he was right. He was right about everything, and there was nothing she could say.

When he spoke again, the anger had given way to contempt. "Of all the people in the world, I'd think you would have a little more faith in me than this. Of all the people in the world, I'd think you fucking knew something about me."

Suddenly she wanted to apologize. She wanted to confess that she had no idea how to do this. That so much had happened in so little time, and she was overwhelmed. That she was hurt because she loved him and here he was putting his arm around a beautiful woman to whom he had at some point made all the promises he was now making to her. That in less than a month she had lost one of her best friends, tried to kill herself, gotten engaged to the man who had driven her to it, then received a surprise visit from the wife she never knew he had. She wanted to tell him that she was nineteen years old, she was terrified of getting hurt, and all this was a lot to take in. She wanted to say that she did know something about him, that she knew that he would never deceive her like this, but hoping, in this insane situation, seemed too much like setting herself up for heartbreak, and she was scared of hoping alone, and she needed him to hold her hand. She realized these things were exactly what she had to say, and that saying them would make everything better.

But just as she opened her mouth, she was interrupted.

"What time do you want me to pick you up on Saturday?"

It was Seiya, coming back into the room pulling on the sleeves of his slightly too-small tux. He saw Ikki and said "Oh, hi." Ikki's wide, cold smile made it clear that this was just about the worst thing that could have happened.

"Hello, Seiya." And, turning to her: "Well played, princess. Well played."

"It's not a game, Ikki, this has nothing to do with you, he's just—"

"Oh, of course it has nothing to do with me. It's never had _anything_ to do with me." As he walked out, he turned to add, "For the record, I was married to Li for two years, and she was a much better wife than you could ever be."

A moment passed before Seiya looked at her and asked, "What the hell just happened?"

* * *

Li was just outside the door, sitting on the steps, feet far apart and knees touching, like a schoolgirl trapped in a grown-up body. Her dress was short and the pang of desire came much faster than any concrete thought of sex. Anger had always had this effect on him. The jealousy probably helped too.

"What happened?"

"She's a slut, that's what happened."

"What? Did you fight? Ikki, are you drunk?"

"We decided to see other people," he said matter-of-factly. It seemed true in some sense, and the part of him that was hurt and afraid was convinced that upstairs in the office she was doing exactly that. His voice was altered from the scotch. Rich people and their well-stocked bars; it had taken a second to stop at the dining room, pour himself two doubles, and let it fade away. That he was also giving her time to follow him downstairs was not something he was willing to admit; not when she hadn't. He felt pleasantly drunk, and his body was responding to her scent. In a second, Li's waist was between his arms. No plan had been necessary, no waiting was needed; this was just the natural course of things, this was what happened when the two of them were together. Their bodies just seemed to find each other.

"Wouldn't it be romantic if we were secretly still in love with each other and got so carried away by the atmosphere that we ended up kissing?" he smirked, stroking her back.

"What atmosphere, Ikki? Shut up, you're drunk!" she complained, trying to push him away. He took her face in one hand and pulled her hips to him with the other. She looked at his lips, confusion and suspicion in her eyes; he pressed himself against her, and caressed her shoulders slowly, one at a time, making her coat slip and fall on the ground. She breathed heavily when he brushed his unshaved face ever so lightly against the curve of her neck, but still mustered out a "This will only make things worse with her, Ikki, stop it before it's too late." His only response was to lightly bite her neck, and he was please to notice that all the hairs on her body reacted to that. He knew her too well; she didn't stand a chance.

"Don't do this to her. Don't do this to your girl," Li tried one last time, from half an inch away, her body clearly disagreeing as his kisses climbed up her neck.

"_You're_ my girl," he said, almost against her mouth. "You've always been my girl."

* * *

Well, it's been almost two years, but here's a new chapter. Lots of crazy reasons for not writing, mostly being insanely busy with grad school... but I'm still into this story, I think about these characters, and I want to give them closure. I'll try hard to post soon (which realistically means within a month or two), but I can't guarantee it. It's been a struggle because, as I've said before, over the years that I've been writing this my idea of where the story should go changed a lot, but I'm constrained by what has been published, and so I have to do a little magic sometimes to get things to work. For a long time I didn't know what to do, and that was one of the reasons I wasn't writing; now I think maybe I see how to tie the loose ends...

I hope you enjoyed this chapter and that, if you did, you'll tell me about it! :) Thanks for reading.


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